


ILYSB

by dimension



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, Pining Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:10:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimension/pseuds/dimension
Summary: “That’s Bellamy Blake. Fourth year NYU student, history major, professional know-it-all and perpetual bachelor.” Raven grimaces. “Trust me, you’re not interested.”Clarke tries to keep her cheeks from warming.—modern AU. Clarke moves to the city for college. She meets Bellamy Blake and hates him immediately. When they become friends, she falls in love. But she's certain he doesn't feel the same.





	ILYSB

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from ILYSB by Lany
> 
> It's honestly sad that I still care about bellarke in 2019, but I'm weak for them.
> 
> Please enjoy!

_“This is Raven Reyes. I’m not able to answer the phone right now. If you want me to get back to you please leave a message. Or, y’know, text me ‘cause it’s the 21st century.”_

 

The line beeps.

 

“Hey Raven. It’s Clarke. Griffin. We both dated... I’m sure you remember me. I know it’s been like a year since we spoke, but I just got accepted into NYU and you’re the only person I know in New York. I’m moving over in August, I thought maybe we could meet up at some point? You can let me know. Call me back. Or text me. Or, I don’t know, ignore this if I’m being weird and stalker-ish. Okay... Bye.”

 

Clarke pulls the phone away from her ear and presses her finger against the red end call button.

 

She falls back onto her bed with a small bounce and lets a long breath escape her lips. Her arms fold across her torso.

 

The ceiling she looks up at is a soft blue, as she insisted it be painted when she was twelve. She hates it now, but knowing that in a few weeks she won’t be staring up at it every night before she sleeps, Clarke finds her hatred morphing into some sort of nostalgic appreciation.

 

Leaving the only home she’s ever known for eighteen years will be hard. But there are benefits to moving away too. She’ll no longer have to make her bed first thing every morning out of fear of being scolded. She won’t have to sit at a table meant for twenty each night, eating dinner in silence with her mother.

 

Yeah, moving away will be good for her.

 

Clarke raises her hands above her head. Her fingers latch onto her favorite pillow, the soft worn one she’s had for years, and she pulls it down atop her chest. She squeezes it.

 

She’s ready to leave, ready to figure out where she belongs.

 

* * *

 

 

Raven texts her the next day.

 

Clarke’s phone chimes across the room, the screen lighting up on her desk. She bends the corner of her book page — a bad habit she picked up from her dad — and rolls off her bed. When she reaches her phone, she swipes right to reveal the text.

 

_Raven: 0% stalker-ish. 100% awesome news. We have to meet up. lmk when you’re settled in, or if you need help settling in!_

 

_Raven: But seriously never call me again._

 

Clarke’s grin stretches across her face. Her thumbs click against her screen as she sends a quick text back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day Clarke leaves her hometown is bittersweet.

 

She already had the lavish excessive party where she said goodbye to everyone — from acquaintances, to good friends, to her mom’s colleagues that have known her since she was young.

 

She survived the night before she left, where she stayed out until two in the morning with her closest friends, driving around and being idiots together one last time.

 

She even got through hugging her mom at her house, placating her, telling her she would miss her and see her in a few months.

 

It’s not until Wells is standing in front of her next to the security line in the airport that Clarke questions if she’s able to go through with leaving. Her eyes start to sting, filling with unshed tears.

 

She drops her luggage onto the dirty white airport tile and reaches out to hug Wells tightly. Her arms wrap around his torso and squeeze, her head pressing into his shoulder.

 

“FaceTime me when you land.” He tells her. “Seriously, the second you land. When you get famous for being the world’s most influential doctor, I want to be able to tell people I witnessed you experiencing New York for the first time.”

 

The noise she lets out is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She almost feels bad for rubbing her blubber all over his nice shirt.

 

They stay like that for five minutes.

 

Eventually, Wells speaks up.

 

“Clarke.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I will need to breathe at some point. And you don’t want to miss your flight.”

 

Wells is the most important person in her life, she doesn’t want to let go. But she has to. Letting go is a part of living.

 

Clarke relaxes her grip, arms dropping to her side, and steps away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week after she arrives in New York, Clarke finishes setting up her apartment.

 

She places the final pillow on her bed, taking a step back to admire her work. She walks to her living room, falls down onto her couch, and pulls her phone out to send a message to Raven.

 

_Clarke: Are you free tonight?_

 

Clarke hates having to take the initiative, having to force a friendship that might not work out. But the only meaningful conversations she’s had in the past week have come through a phone speaker, and it’s starting to get to her.

 

Raven responds quickly.

 

_Raven: Are you here?? Yes I’m free. Want to meet me @ a bar?_

 

Clarke tucks her paint stained legs underneath her on her couch. The nail of her thumb finds it’s way between her teeth.

 

_Clarke: I’m 18... can’t get into a bar. Sorry._

 

Clarke chews on her bottom lip. Hopefully Raven won’t be turned off by her age. Clarke doesn’t have a fake ID, doesn’t have much experience at all with drinking outside of a beer or two under her parents supervision.

 

She wasn’t sheltered, most of friends back home drank and got high. Clarke was sure she would at some point in her life too, but she saw no reason to rush it.

 

Her phone chimed again.

 

_Raven: I know the bouncer, I can get u in. Unless you’d prefer going somewhere else..._

 

The air conditioner unit kicks on, the mechanical buzz filling the room, combatting the sweltering heat of summer.

 

Clarke turns her music up a notch in response, her speaker across the room booming slightly louder, though not blasting. She doesn't want to make enemies with her neighbors.

 

_Clarke: Bar is good!_

 

Raven sends her the address.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Clarke puts her contacts in for the first time that week her eyeballs sting. She rustles through her still unpacked luggage and grabs the first crop top tank she can find to match her light blue high waisted jeans.

 

She’s five minutes late when her uber pulls up to the address Raven sent her.

 

Clarke steps out of the car and sends Raven a text, letting her know she arrived. A minute later Raven is walking out of the bar door, looking drop dead gorgeous in her hoop earrings. She hugs Clarke tightly and then literally pulls her by the arm into the loud bar.

 

“Sit here.” Raven instructs, motioning towards the table. “I’ll grab drinks. What do you want?”

 

Clarke sits down, placing her hands in her lap.

 

“Water is fine.”

 

“Are you sure? It’s on me if money is an issue.” Raven tells her with a wide smile. She’s very forward, Clarke notes. Clarke focuses on listening to Raven’s voice, ignoring the chatter of the crowd around her. “And don’t worry about being underage. I know the bartender that’s on right now. She’ll serve you.”

 

Raven knows everybody, apparently.

 

On second thought, she could probably use help unwinding.

 

“I’ll take whatever you recommend.” She tells Raven.

 

When Raven returns, she places a bright red drink on the table in front of Clarke. It looks tropical and is definitely not something Clarke would ever order, but she’s willing to give it a try if Raven thinks it’s good.

 

She brings the green straw to her lips. When the liquid hits her tongue, the tangy taste explodes on her tastebuds. It has an artificial flavor to it that Clarke finds unappealing. But it’s not entirely disgusting.

 

“It’s good, right?” Raven asks from across the table, nodding her head at the drink.

 

Her eyebrows are raised in expectation.

 

“It’s alright.”

 

Raven leans back in her seat, slinging her arm across the bench. She pulls off casual in a leather jacket in a way Clarke could never dream of.

 

“You’ll learn to like it.” Raven smiles. “I’m assuming you didn’t spend your Summer drinking at parties? Smart woman. Wish I could say the same.”

 

Clarke laughs lightly.

 

“No I, uh, mostly just packed.” Clarke scrunches her nose, realizing how lame her words sound.

 

Raven takes a generous sip of her drink. “You went to Banff though?”

 

Clarke did spend time there. And she posted a few pictures on Instagram, which she’s sure is how Raven found out.

 

“For my senior trip.” Clarke explains.

 

“Why’d you choose there?” Raven asks. “I mean, it looked super cool. But knowing your mom she would have sent you anywhere. Europe, Bahamas, Puerto Rico...”

 

Clarke’s heart beat turns unsteady. “My dad always wanted to take me there, since I was a kid.” Then, mumbling, she adds, “he didn’t get to go obviously.”

 

The sympathetic look Raven sends her is one Clarke is familiar with. Everyone who learns her dad died feels they owe her sympathy. Clarke knows people mean their best, but she’s so tired of the pity.

 

Thankfully, Raven seems to assume that Clarke has no interest in discussing her father. She doesn’t linger on the subject, doesn’t offer apologies about a person she never knew. Instead, she begins divulging to Clarke details about her summer stuck in her mom’s auto-body shop with a hot mechanic.

 

Clarke starts draining her drink. Water drips down the side of her curvy glass, and the liquid is cool when it touches her tongue. The more she sips, the better it tastes.

 

When Raven gets up to use the restroom, Clarke pulls out her phone. And when she finds her twitter feed to be dry and boring, she puts her phone back down, looking up.

 

That’s when she sees _him._

 

He catches her eye like no one has before.

 

Clarke’s first thought is that he embodies being charismatic. The easy smile on his lips as he walks into the bar, his slightly unkempt hair, the hard set of his jaw and the flat line of his eyebrows — it all has Clarke fixated. She is captivated by him.

 

He’s not tall, but his presence is. And, even from a distance, Clarke notices how he resembles a sculpture, carved from marble by the hand of a perfectionist. She hates to subject, but he’s a piece of art. Her fingers twitch on the table, already aching to draw him.

 

She is inexplicably allured by him. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before.

 

He squeezes behind the bar. Clarke can’t pull her gaze away. He must be a bartender.

 

Raven returns at that exact moment, dropping into her seat. Clarke can’t stop the question from falling off her lips.

 

“Who’s that?” She asks, internally chastising herself for not playing it cool.

 

Raven’s turns her head, following Clarke’s line of sight. “Do you think I know everyone in this— Oh. Bellamy?”

 

Clarke glances back at Raven.

 

“The one with the black shirt.” She answers.

 

“That’s Bellamy Blake. Fourth year NYU student, history major, professional know-it-all and perpetual bachelor.” Raven grimaces. “Trust me, you’re not interested.”

 

Clarke tries to keep her cheeks from warming.

 

“I wasn’t...” She trails off, recognizing that she kinda _was_.

 

“Listen, I get that he’s nice to look at. And he’s got a reputation for being more than decent in bed. But he’s not good for anything else.”

 

The table in front of Clarke wobbles as she leans forward.

 

“Have you two ever...?” She let’s her question hang in the air.

 

Raven understands what she’s asking though. “No.” She shrugs. “Maybe if I knew him when everything went down with Finn I’d be desperate enough. But I have morals now.”

 

Clarke lets out a short laugh.

 

Her gaze drifts over to him again, she can’t stop herself. His presence is magnetic.

 

“I need another drink.” Raven announces. Clarke looks down at her own half full drink, then her eyes glance at Raven’s empty one. “Come with me.” Raven instructs, standing.

 

Clarke grabs her drink and follows Raven.

 

It takes her a second before she comprehends that they’re walking straight towards Bellamy. She tries to quell the nerves that build in her gut.

 

When they reach the bar, Bellamy’s eyebrows are angles downwards and his mouth forms a scowl. Clarke places her drink down in front of her. There’s a towel thrown over his shoulder. From up close she’s able to take so much detail, like the vein running through his large rough hand, and the freckles scattered across his cheeks.

 

“Blake.” Raven greets.

 

Bellamy glances up. “Reyes.” His voice is a pleasant deep rumble, reminds her of the hum of the engine on her dad’s old chevy. The thought makes Clarke’s heart clench. “What do you want?”

 

“What do you think? My usual.”

 

Bellamy turns around, presumably to make Raven’s drink.

 

Raven faces towards Clarke and leans forward. Her hand makes its way to rest on Clarke’s upper arm.

 

“Bellamy’s been bartending all Summer,” Raven explains, “I can introduce you if you want?”

 

Clarke’s lip’s part, her eyes widen. She shakes her head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to. Maybe next time.”

 

Raven nods in agreement, but the smirk on her mouth worries Clarke.

 

Bellamy places Raven’s finished drink on the bar. The noise it makes as it smacks down startles Clarke.

 

“Take it.” He instructs, gruff.

 

Raven shoots him a glare, reaching out for her drink. “Who pissed you off?” She asks.

 

“Everyone.” He mutters, turning away.

 

Much to Clarke’s embarrassment, Raven doesn’t let him leave.

 

“Hey.” She calls out. “I want to introduce you to my friend.”

 

Bellamy turns back to them.

 

And then, his eyes are on Clarke. He’s watching her expectantly with an eyebrow cocked.

 

Something about the way he looks at her makes Clarke feel the need to _prove_ she’s better than him.

 

She smiles friendly.

 

“Hi. I’m Clarke. I just moved here to start—”

 

“I don’t need your life story.” He interrupts her, the corners of his lips turned slightly downward.

 

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up at his harsh tone. “Excuse me?”

 

She grips the drink in her hand to steady her nerves.

 

“I’ve seen girls like you. You’re not as special as you think.” He leans forward over the bar, showcasing his broad shoulders. “Your parents pay for you to go to college, get you a nice apartment. You come to the city with your cute clothes and order fruity drinks at bars. Not a worry in your life.” The smile on his face is mean.

 

Frustration flares inside Clarke. He doesn’t know her, he has no right to judge.

 

She can’t just turn away from his provocation, so she raises her chin and squares her shoulders.

 

“You think _I’m_ predictable? Look at you.” She eyes him up and down. “Yelling at girls you don’t know in bars. Why do you do that, huh? Is it easier to pretend it’s my fault your life is a tragedy than to own up to the fact that you’re a failure?” The smile on his face falters. “You don’t know the first thing about me. My life isn’t as easy as you think.”

 

His smirk reforms quickly. It makes Clarke freeze.

 

“Oh, really? Do enlighten me. What problems does the princess have to face? Let me guess, the crown is too heavy. Or, wait,” he snaps, “I think I figured it out. Daddy didn’t buy you enough diamonds.”

 

Clarke’s turns white at the mention of her dad. He didn’t know, he couldn’t know. He just meant it as a passing insult.

 

But it still stings.

 

Bellamy’s eyes sparkle. “Did I hit a sore spot?” He asks meanly, with fake concern. “Your father must have really done a number on you. Poor little rich girl.”

 

She hates him.

 

Clarke has been a rather passive person her entire life, but she _hates_ Bellamy Blake with passion.

 

Raven speaks up. “God, Bellamy, you’re such an insecure dick. Get lost.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment. Electricity crackles through the heavy gaze. Bellamy sticks his chin up, and Clarke meets him with a defiant glare.

 

Bellamy breaks eye contact first, turning and stomping to another customer.

 

“That was a weirdly intense spurt of tension.” Raven observes. Clarke glances at her flatly. “Sorry about him.” She reaches out to place a warm hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “Normally he’s not that bad.”

 

Clarke fakes a smile. “It’s okay.”

 

Raven tilts her head and watches Clarke decisively. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

After they leave the bar, they walk six blocks to a donut shop that Raven claims is heavenly.

 

The donuts they buy are slightly stale and yet probably the best ones Clarke has ever eaten.

 

Raven helps Clarke get a metro card and they take the subway back to Clarke’s apartment. Clarke still isn’t accustomed to the smell of the city. She spends most of the ride digging her nose into the perfume doused fabric of her shirt.

 

When they walk into Clarke’s apartment, Raven looks around with wide eyes.

 

“This place is a palace.” Raven notes.

 

Clarke hardly thinks so. It’s a bit run down, and relatively small. Not impressive at all in comparison to the suburban mansion she lived in with her Mom.

 

“Oh my god, you have actual rooms. And a full kitchen.” Raven’s compliments keep coming.

 

“I still need to decorate.” Clarke deflects, falling down onto her leather couch. Raven sits next to her.

 

“I really like you.” Raven says. Clarke looks over at her. “This sucks.”

 

Clarke draws her eyebrows together.

 

“Why does it suck that you like me?”

 

The leather seat squeaks under Clarke as she turns to face Raven.

 

Raven keeps her eyes on her lap. “I’m transferring to Houston in September.”

 

Clarke’s face falls.

 

“Oh. That does suck.” She responds. “Why Houston?”

 

“Their aerospace engineering program is better.”

 

Clarke’s eyebrows raise. She wasn’t aware that Raven’s in school for actual rocket science. While she’s upset that her only friend in a city of millions is moving away, she can’t help but be excited for her.

 

“That’s amazing.”

 

“Kinda.” Raven throws her head back against the sofa. “I’ve never lived away from my parents, but I’m ready. It’s not like they care whether I’m here or not anyways.” She grabs a pillow and pulls it onto her lap. “They’re mostly annoyed at losing an employee in their shop.”

 

Clarke nudges Raven’s leg with her foot.

 

“I care that you’re leaving.” Clarke chimes. Raven looks up at her, almost seeming surprised. “I’ll miss you.”

 

Raven smiles. “Of course you will. I’m awesome.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the month before her classes start, Clarke spends most of her time touring the city with Raven.

 

Nearly every day, Raven takes her to a new location. The more time they spend in each other’s presence, the closer they become. By the end of the month, the thought of saying goodbye to Raven hurts Clarke almost as much as the memory of saying goodbye to Wells.

 

Clarke insists on taking Raven to the airport. She’s the only person there to say goodbye. Clarke doesn’t ask Raven where her parents are.

 

They hug for five minutes surrounded by hustle — clicking footsteps, rolling luggage and PA announcements. Clarke prides herself in not crying, though she does sense a lump building in her throat.

 

After she pulls away, Raven picks up her luggage disappears into the crowd.

 

And, in a matter of seconds, Clarke is left alone in the biggest city in the country.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke’s first week at college is marked by a special kind of exhaustion that only school can induce.

 

By the time she’s walking into her easiest elective, she wants nothing more than to fall asleep. Not even her hydroflask filled with coffee, which she’s learned to carry with her everywhere she goes, can comfort her.

 

The room is large, with descending desks, and bland. Hues of brown and grey fill Clarke’s eyesight. At the front is a podium and a projector.

 

She’s intent on sitting somewhere in the middle, settling down, and trying to look attentive as she lets her brain rest. Maybe she’ll sit next to someone who’s willing share notes.

 

Three steps into her walk in the classroom, she’s stopped when a man steps in front of her. He has way too much dark hair and it’s all greased back, his skin is an unhealthy faded pale shade. His lips pull to a wry smile. Clarke instinctively taken a step back.

 

“Hey sweetheart.” He leers forward at her with sunken eyes.

 

She sticks her chin up and, with a flat face, speaks. “Do I know you?”

 

The corner of his smile twitches as he shoves a hand in his suit pocket. Clarke shudders.

 

“My name is Cage Wallace.” He’s not looking at her eyes. Clarke doesn’t want to know where his slimy gaze is directed. “You’ll want to remember it.”

 

Clarke has to resist the urge to gag. Without a word, she brushes past him. As a precaution, she picks an empty seat a good five rows away from where Cage stopped her.

 

There’s another ten minutes before the class is set to start, so Clarke pulls her sketchbook out of her pack, drawing absentmindedly to fill the time. She’s not sure quite what she’s creating until she halfway through the sketch and realizes. Hands. Large rough hands that she can’t get out of her mind. A vein running through the middle. Clarke gulps, turning the page. She’ll draw something simple, something that doesn’t have implications about her subconscious. Like a flower. Flowers are safe.

 

Clarke’s barely started on the first petal when she hears the chair next to her get pulled out, it’s legs scratching on the grey carpet. She can sense someone sitting down.

 

Clarke glances over, a friendly smile on her face.

 

Her eyes widen and her face drops as she recognizes the figure next to her. It’s _him_. There’s no point in pretending she forgot his name. It’s Bellamy.

 

His hair is just as tussled like it was before, though it’s slightly shorter than she remembers, enough so to reveal the bottoms of his ears peeking out from under his dark curls. She glances at his hand on the table and then immediately looks away as her cheeks heat. She had been sketching that hand a few minutes ago. A hand she saw once. How embarrassing.

 

Bellamy sighs as he sets his bag on the floor, then glances over at Clarke. Maybe he won’t recognize her, Clarke hopes. His eyes immediately shine with realization.

 

A smirk curls on his face.

 

“Hey. You’re that girl I yelled at.”

 

Subtle.

 

Clarke gives him a flat, unimpressed stare. “And you’re that guy that yelled at me.”

 

His smirk only grows at that, the look working its way under Clarke’s skin. Seconds back in his presence and he’s already annoying her remarkably.

 

“I should probably apologize for that.” He says like it’s a chore. An obligation.

 

Clarke huffs. “Don’t exert yourself for my sake.”

 

Bellamy shrugs. “Okay,” is all he says, turning to face his desk.

 

His response infuriates Clarke. God. He’s the worst.

 

Clarke turns back to her sketchbook, but she’s not able to focus on drawing at all. Not when he’s right next to her, and — for some inexplicable reason — her body is hyper aware of his presence.

 

_Click, click, click._

 

The pen in his hand taps against the table repeatedly.

 

_Click, click, click._

 

Clarke tells herself to ignore it. He wants to get a reaction out of her. If she gives in, he wins.

 

_Click, click, click._

 

“Could you stop that?” She snaps.

 

Bellamy doesn’t seem phased by her abrupt anger. He places his pen flat on the table with one final _click_ and grins widely. He takes pleasure in annoying her, she knows it.

 

“Sorry.” He mutters. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

 

Yeah right.

 

His lie isn’t even believable. The sparkle in his eye tells her so, tells her that he’s enjoying their conversation way too much.

 

“How’s a class on ancient grecian artisanship supposed to help your fashion major?” He inquires.

 

Clarke lets out a dry chuckle. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m pre-med.” She takes pleasure in the way his eyes widen in surprise. “I had a empty spot for an elective. This class is for pleasurable edification.”

 

“You’re learning Greek history for fun?” He gulps.

 

“Yes.” Clarke responds, sharp and annoyed.

 

The way he watches her for a second, eyes unguarded — Clarke can only describe it as awe. Then, like it never even happened, the facade picks back up. His lips curl and his eyes close off.

 

Before he can get another word in, footsteps clack in the front of the classroom. An older man, presumably the professor, takes his place at the podium. The room quiets down.

 

Clarke slides her MacBook out of her bag. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Bellamy open up a college rule notebook, flipping to the first blank page. She feels self conscious about her laptop for a moment, certain that he’s silently judging her. What did he call her again? Poor little rich girl.

 

The hour goes by slowly, and Clarke is proud of herself keeping her eyes open.

 

“Before you go,” the professors starts, causing Clarke to look up, “every assignment in this class will be turned in by groups of two. Pair up when the class ends. If you don’t have a partner by the beginning of the next class, you will be assigned one at random. Class dismissed.”

 

The noise level ascends as chatter fills the room.

 

Clarke shuts her laptop and slides it into her bag.

 

“Partners?” Bellamy asks.

 

Clarke turns to find him watching her, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

 

She squints her eyes. He wants them to be partners? The idea is laughable, but she finds no trace of humor in his face.

 

“Funny.” Clarke deadpans. “I think I’ll pass.”

 

Bellamy shrugs, muttering something about it being her loss.

 

Clarke turns away from him only to find Cage standing in front of her desk. He’s fiddling with the watch on his wrist, probably trying to get her to notice that he’s wearing a Rolex. She notices. She’s not impressed.

 

“Can I help you?” Clarke asks, not even attempting to infuse politeness into her tone. She’s so done with men for the day.

 

“I need a partner.” His voice is scratchy. “Looks like you do too...”

 

The implication is clear. He wants them to be partners. And while she found the idea of being partners with Bellamy slightly unappealing, the idea of Cage cornering her into a partnership actually frightens Clarke a little.

 

He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who will take no at face value.

 

“I already have a partner.” The lie slips off her tongue with ease.

 

Clarke closes her sketchbook.

 

“Who?” Cage inquires.

 

Clarke’s pretty sure that she’ll be forced to work with him if she doesn’t come up with a convincing answer. And if they are partners, it will most likely end with him dumping her chopped up frozen body into a dumpster. He seems like the type.

 

There’s only one person in the class who’s name she knows, only one answer she can give other than admitting she lied. Her hand is forced.

 

“Bellamy is my partner.” She answers. She can sense Bellamy freezing next to her, clearly picking up on that part of the conversation.

 

Cage scowls and — finally — walks away from her.

 

Clarke turns to Bellamy. There’s a self satisfied grin on his face that she’s grown quite used to in the past hour.

 

“Didn’t know you remembered my name, princess.”

 

Clarke scoffs. “ _My_ name isn’t princess. It’s—”

 

“Clarke.” He cuts her off. Clarke is shocked that he hadn’t forgotten. “I remember too. I think we’ll be great partners.”

 

Clarke bottom lip works it’s way under her teeth.

 

“Whatever,” she relents, lifting her white earphones to her ears.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I hate him.”

 

“Yeah. You’ve mentioned that. Like twenty times.” Wells responds.

 

Clarke pulls her phone away from her ear, setting it down on her counter and tapping on the speakerphone button. She walks to her fridge. The appliance emits cool air when she opens it, illuminating its contents with a sharp blue light. It’s nearly empty. And she’s starving. Fantastic.

 

“I mean he, like, totally forced his way into being my partner.” She continues in her complaints.

 

“Didn’t he save you from that creepy guy? Cain?”

 

“Cage.” Clarke spits. Even his name makes her shudder with disgust. “And he didn’t save me. I saved myself. Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

 

Wells laugh is light. “I’m impartial.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

At their next class, Clarke only speaks to Bellamy once to exchange numbers and set a time to meet at the library.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It only took about thirty minutes of fighting before the librarian kicked Bellamy and Clarke out.

 

Instead of actually working, they had spent their time arguing over which pen to use for their first draft.

 

_“I’m doing the writing.” Clarke points at herself for emphasis, her tone heated. “I want to use my favorite pen so my hand doesn’t cramp.”_

 

_“It’s unprofessional to write with a purple pen.” Bellamy insists. His voice is dark._

 

 _“It’s a_ draft, _Bellamy. No one is going to see it.” She shouts, ignoring the glares from the students near them. “Pen color doesn’t matter.”_

 

_Bellamy scoffs. “You sound insane. Black or blue only.”_

 

 _Clarke rolls her head back. “You’re_ so _pretentious.”_

 

_“I’m pretentious? You’re the one who refuses to write with a ballpoint pen.”_

 

_“You’re infuriating,” Clarke smiles fakely, “and I’m not risking hand dystonia all because you’re a control freak.”_

 

_“Don’t use your doctor knowledge to win the argument.”_

 

_“Fine.” She offers a compromise. “I’ll just type it on my laptop.”_

 

_Of course, nothing is that easy with Bellamy._

 

_“No. Typing stunts creativity.”_

 

_Clarke throws her head back in frustration. That’s when the stern librarian shows up, asking them to leave with a threatening glance back at the security guard standing near the door._

 

It wasn’t Clarke’s finest moment, but Bellamy evokes a stubbornness in her that she previously didn’t know existed.

 

Standing outside the library doors, Clarke shoves her hands into her coat pockets.

 

They have to pick a new location for studying, preferably somewhere that won’t end up filing noise complaints.

 

“My place is a half an hour uptown.” Bellamy offers, crossing his arm.

 

Clarke rolls her bottom lip into her mouth. She doesn’t want to bring him to her apartment but — even more than that — she doesn’t want to have to ride the train home by herself at night.

 

“We can study at my place.” She nearly demands it.

 

Bellamy smirk is lopsided. He tugs on the strings of his backpack with his thumbs. “I get to see that castle?” The faux-enthusiasm in his tone makes Clarke roll her eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they arrive, Bellamy strolls straight to her couch, pulls out blank paper, and holds her purple pen out towards her.

 

It’s a nice gesture, Clarke supposes, but that doesn’t mean she thinks he’s a good guy.

 

After they get past the arguing, they actually work well together. Their ideas compliment each other’s, their vision for the assignment is eerily identical. Clarke had never been so compatible with someone.

 

That doesn’t mean she likes him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The second time they meet to study, Bellamy’s a bit more relaxed in her apartment.

 

He lounges back on the couch, an arm behind his head, and grabs her remote, clicking until he reaches the ‘watch it again’ file on her netflix.

 

Bellamy glances at her.

 

“Stranger Things? Really?” His tone has a teasing lilt.

 

Clarke looks at him of the corner of her eye, not moving her head.

 

“It’s a good show.” She defends herself. “Do you have to start a fight over everything?”

 

“You enjoy it.” He claims, shrugging.

 

Clarke scoffs. “I do not.”

 

The idea that she could find pleasure in arguing with him is... absurd.

 

Bellamy scrolls around on her tv aimlessly with the remote.

 

“Yeah, you do.” His words are casual. “You get all worked up and passionate.” He looks at her, the grin on his face growing. “Face it, princess, you like my company.”

 

“I _tolerate_ your company.” Clarke tucks her legs underneath her on the couch. “Turn the tv off. Let’s get this assignment over with.”

 

“Actually,” Bellamy sits up straight, stretching his arms above his head, “I have to go.”

 

A faint hint of disappointment builds in Clarke. She’s not sure why. She should be happy he’s leaving.

 

“What could you possibly have to do on a Tuesday night?”

 

Bellamy lets out a tired sigh.

 

“My sister has a wrestling meet.”

 

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “You have a sister?”

 

She’s not sure why the information surprises her. She knows nothing about him, he could have ten siblings for all she knows.

 

“She’s in high school.” Bellamy tells her. “Her and my mom live upstate.” He slings his bag over his shoulder.

 

Clarke wonders what kind of brother would be willing to drive upwards of an hour away just for one lousy meet. Probably a caring one, though that’s not the type of person she reconciles Bellamy Blake with.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The blanket slung over Clarke’s legs is soft to the touch. She tugs it up to her torso and relaxes back further into her couch.

 

In her boredom, she had called Wells three times with no answer.

 

Clarke scrolls around her Instagram, tapping through stories. All her friends back home are seemingly at some party. Jealousy aches in Clarke. It’s Friday night, all her friends are living their best life together, and she’s alone in her apartment hundreds of miles away.

 

Clarke closes out of the app before her loneliness can start to really get to her.

 

Looking through her contacts, the dejection in Clarke’s heart only deepens. She has hundreds of contacts, but only two of those are from people in the city: Bellamy and the takeout she likes a few blocks over. Clarke sighs audibly. Her and Bellamy aren’t exactly friends, and she’s pretty sure Francesco from Vici’s Pizza doesn’t want to hang out with her.

 

Clarke clicks her phone off, setting it down, and lays down on her side. She presses her face into her leather couch. Moments like this make Clarke regret moving so far away.

 

The corners of her lips pull downward. She closes her eyes.

 

A vibrating sensation buzzes at her thigh. Clarke reaches for her phone, her fingers gripping around the corner and pulling the screen in front of her face.

 

She reads the bold name. Bellamy Blake. Bellamy is calling her.

 

Clarke’s eyebrows draw together.

 

She swipes right on the glass and brings the phone to her ear.

 

“Hello.” She says slowly, drawing out the syllables.

 

“Hey. Clarke. It’s Bellamy.” His voice is a smooth rumble, even through the electronic speaker.

 

“I know.” She runs her finger along a loose thread on her couch. “Caller ID has existed for about twenty years now. Give or take a decade.”

 

“I’m choosing to ignore your condescension. What are you doing right now?”

 

“Not much.” She answers elusively. “Why?”

 

Clarke tilts her head.

 

“I dunno. All my friends are out of town. I’m... bored.” He releases a breath into the speaker.

 

“And?”

 

“ _And_ I’m calling to see if you want to hang out.”

 

Clarke crinkles her nose.

 

He wants to hang out with her. Like, willing participate in non-school activities with her.

 

“Did I hear that wrong?”

 

“Yes or no, Clarke.”

 

Clarke swallows.

 

“I don’t know...” She trails off, not able to come up with good reasons as to why they shouldn’t. She was literally just complaining that she has nothing to do, and now here’s this opportunity presenting itself.

 

“It’ll be fun.” He promises. “I’ll try my best not to yell at you.”

 

Clarke runs her tongue behind her bottom lip. It’s not like she has anything better to do.

 

“Fine.” She agrees.

 

“Meet me in front of the Library in a half an hour.” She can hear the smirk in his voice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After they meet up at the library, Bellamy drags Clarke to a run down diner a few blocks away. The neon open sign flickers into the dark night, guiding them in.

 

Inside, the dirty run down seats and scratched floor make Clarke wrap her arms around herself.

 

“I’m not sure about this, Bellamy.” Clarke tugs at the bottom of his coat, demanding his attention. “I’d rather not get food poisoning.”

 

Bellamy smiles down at her lazily.

 

“You’ll like it. Trust me.”

 

When her fries come, Clarke tests them out by taking a small nibble. They resemble cardboard more than potatoes, but Clarke has to admit it is impressive that they’ve managed to be both stale and soggy at the same time.

 

The strawberry milkshake she gets, unlike the fries, is divine.

 

“See?” Bellamy tells her as they walk down the street, cold milkshakes in hand. “I told you it’s good.”

 

Clarke pulls the straw out of her mouth. “It’s decent.”

 

It’s better than decent, but he doesn’t need the satisfaction being right. His ego might grow to dangerous levels.

 

Bellamy nudges her with his elbow as they step onto the crosswalk. Clarke watches her steps, careful not to trip on the uneven pavement.

 

They end up going to Bellamy’s apartment.

 

After they get off the train, they walk three blocks. He takes her down a dark alley, uses the flashlight on his phone to guide their steps.

 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. She’s pretty sure its the first time he has ever apologized to her. “The city’s supposed to put lamps in.”

 

“It’s fine.” Clarke isn’t sure why she feels the need to reassure him.

 

He pulls a key out of his back pocket, using it to unlock the door into his apartment building.

 

The elevator is guarded by a retractable metal door that Bellamy opens with a different key. On the ride up, the machine creaks. The light above them flickers and buzzes.

 

When they arrive at his door — the number 503 printed above a peephole — Clarke can sense nerves rolling off of Bellamy.

 

He opens the door slowly and they walk in.

 

“It’s not much.” Bellamy mutters, his jaw clenching. He closes the door behind her and doesn’t look in her eyes as he flicks the light switches on.

 

It all clicks in Clarke’s mind. The nervous apologies, avoiding eye contact — he’s embarrassed of his living conditions.

 

“Bellamy I... I won’t judge.” She promises.

 

He has nothing to be ashamed of. If Clarke had to live in the city on her own dime she would be in a much worse place than this.

 

Bellamy reaches his hand up and scratches the skin below his jaw.

 

Clarke turns around. The apartment is clean, nearly immaculate. Considering the hygiene of the average male college student, Clarke at least expected there to be a used dish or some dirty laundry left out.

 

Clarke smirks. She should have known Bellamy would be obsessively cleanly.

 

There’s a tight kitchen to her left that Clarke walks past. The entry way leads to some sort of living room. Mounted on the wall is a tv, with a cabinet directly underneath that’s stocked with dvd cases and game consoles. The shelf to the left, stocked with books, is mildly impressive. There’s no seating, which Clarke finds odd.

 

“I sold my couch last month to make rent.” Bellamy tells her, apparently sensing her question before she could ask it. It was strange that he could do that. “I’ve got a friend who’s gonna hook me up with a new one soon.”

 

Clarke shrugs, hoping that Bellamy understands that the fact doesn’t bother her.

 

She steps towards his window and peers out of it. They’re at a high enough floor that Clarke is able to see the glowing lights of the skyline of the city. She’s in love with the view.

 

She imagines herself sitting right in front of the window with a canvas. Spending the entire day recreating the sight before her.

 

“Does the princess approve of my apartment then?” Bellamy asks from behind her.

 

“I like it.” Clarke answered honestly, her breath fogging the window.

 

“Yeah right.” Bellamy huffs, clearly disbelieving.

 

Clarke turns around and looks him dead in the eye. “I’m being serious.” He blinks at her. “It has... character. It feels like a home.”

 

Clarke can feel Bellamy stepping next to her. “You like the view?” He asks.

 

Clarke turns her head. He’s really close. She can smell his cologne rolling off of him. It’s earthy and intriguing. She forces her brain to form sentences.

 

“It’s pretty.” She squeaks out.

 

He reaches forward, unlatching the two locks at the top of the window and pushing it open.

 

Then, he crawls out the window, onto the fire escape.

 

“Come out here.” He tells her.

 

Clarke follows him, hooking her legs out of the window one at a time. She sits next to Bellamy, crossing her legs and leaning back against the brick building. The metal grates below her press into the exposed skin of her ankle, right above her vans.

 

The view is crystal clear from outside. She can see building lights shining into the night.

 

The air is cold, but uncomfortable.

 

“My friend’s dad is the landlord.” Bellamy mutters. “That’s how I got this apartment. It’s much nicer than what I’m usually able to afford. A mansion compared to my last place.”

 

Clarke chest moves up and down in sync with her breaths. She tilts her head, her golden waves swaying.

 

“Why did you ask me to hang out?” She blurts out.

 

Bellamy’s knees are pulled up to his chest, his legs spread. His arms hang off his knees.

 

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. His eyebrows are drawn.

 

“I already told you.” He answers slowly. “My friends are out of town.”

 

Clarke sighs.

 

“I don’t buy that.”

 

The chuckle Bellamy lets out is deep and slow. The sound warms Clarke’s insides.

 

“Why would I lie?” He humors her.

 

“You really expect me to believe that, on a random Friday in September, every single one of your friends is gone?” She cocks an eyebrow. “Even if they are, it’s not like you _had_ to call me.”

 

Clarke examines the crescent white of her cuticles.

 

Bellamy huffs. “Fine. Maybe I stretched the truth a little. But a few of my friends _are_ away this weekend.”

 

Clarke elbows him lightheartedly.

 

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

 

When she looks at him, he’s clenching his jaw.

 

“I like spending time with you, okay?” He turns his face to her. “Is that what you wanted to hear? You’re cool and smart and... I-I don’t know.” He runs a hand over his face.

 

Clarke squints her eyes, disbelieving.

 

“You do not like spending time with me.” She narrows her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re always starting fights with me.”

 

“Cause its fun.” He shrugs.

 

“No. You do it cause you hate me.”

 

Bellamy’s mouth falls open. “I do not hate you.” He almost seems offended that she would think it.

 

“Bellamy. You hated me the second you met me. Before I even said a full sentence to you.”

 

Bellamy’s back straightens. She can hear cars pass by on the streets below them.

 

“I never hated you.” She’s surprised by how serious his voice is. “I think you’re awesome...” He licks his lips and leans back. “I was in a bad mood the night we met.” He confesses.

 

“Never would have guessed.” Clarke mumbles.

 

Bellamy clears his throat. “I, uh...” He runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes stuck on his lap. “That night was my last shift at the bar. I didn’t want to be working two jobs once classes started.” He pauses. “My mom called me that morning and told me she lost her job, that she needed me to lend her some money so that she could keep her place and feed my sister. I was stressed and frustrated. I took it out on you when I saw your nice earrings and... It doesn’t matter.” He scrunches his nose. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry.”

 

Clarke’s head was spinning. It made sense. After hearing his explanation, she doesn’t blame him at all. Sure, he’s annoying and starts too many pointless arguments with her. But he never does it out of malice.

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Clarke responds.

 

The corner of his lip curls into a lazy smile. His freckles dance upwards.

 

“Yeah I do.”

 

“No.” Clarke insists. “I probably deserved it anyways. Everything you said was true.”

 

Bellamy takes a deep breath.

 

“Now that you’ve heard my sob story, what about you?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

The sky above them sparkles with sparse stars.

 

“I mean,” he rumbles, “the things I said weren’t nice, but they weren’t, like, _that_ bad.”

 

Clarke rubs circles on her wrist with her thumb. “You’re saying I overreacted.”

 

“Not exactly. Just... I’m trying not to dig myself into a proverbial hole here.”

 

Clarke takes a moment. She has to tell him, she knows. She always hates this part. She hates bluntly addressing the topic. She hates the look of pity she receives after telling people, their sorrowful eyes.

 

“My dad passed away.” Clarke keeps her voice robotic. “Almost a year ago.”

 

She bites her tongue, her cheeks burn.

 

Bellamy’s mouth falls open in realization.

 

“And I said the thing about...”

 

“Having daddy issues,” Clarke finishes for him. “Yeah.”

 

Clarke prepares herself to hear his apologies, offers of empty condolences.

 

Bellamy Blake does what he always does, though. He surprises her.

 

He lets out a dry humorless chuckle.

 

“I’m a jerk.” He mutters.

 

Clarke’s not sure why she feels the need to defend him.

 

“You didn’t know.” She counters. “There’s no way you could have known.”

 

“Still...” He trails off. “We’re a pretty messed up bunch, you and me.” Clarke smiles at the thought. They really are. “Do you miss him?”

 

Clarke furrows her brows.

 

She hadn’t spoken about her dad much since he passed away. Her mom liked to pretend nothing happened. And she used her friends as an escape, not as a support system. They couldn’t understand anyways.

 

Something about talking to Bellamy Blake seems like the perfect way to honor her father. She feels comfortable confessing to Bellamy things she’s never said out loud before.

 

“Sometimes.” Clarke nearly whispers. “Some days I miss him so much it physically hurts. Other days, it’s like this invisible numbness inside me. Those days are the worst. And then some days...” Clarke pauses. She’s not sure if Bellamy will judge her for how she feels. “As horrible as it sounds, some days it doesn’t even phase me that he’s gone.” She tries to keep her voice steady, to keep the pretense of strength. “Like, I don’t even have the energy to care sometimes. Because caring hurts _so_ much.” It’s the first time she’s said it out loud. Breathing is easier with the thought off her chest. “Does that make me an awful person?”

 

Clarke’s afraid of what she’ll find in Bellamy’s eyes. She looks anyways.

 

All she sees is understanding.

 

“No.” He tells her flatly. “It makes you human.”

 

It’s the nicest thing that anyone’s said to her in a long time.

 

Bellamy reaches into his pocket. When his hand comes out, its accompanied by a red pack of cigarettes.

 

She crinkles her nose in disgust and turns her head away.

 

Bellamy freezes.

 

“Do you mind if I smoke?” He asks.

 

Clarke hates to be a killjoy, but the smell of smoke makes her feel dirty.

 

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.” She says. “But you can if you want. It’s your house.”

 

Bellamy hesitates for a second, then closes the top of the pack. He reaches over her to toss the cigarettes through his window back into his apartment.

 

Clarke cocks an eyebrow at him, ignoring the goosebumps that rise on her skin when a mild gust of wind pushes at them.

 

“I’m trying to quit.” Bellamy confesses.

 

“You’re doing a horrible job.” She tells him flatly.

 

Bellamy’s responding rich laughter fills her with warmth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Bellamy notices Clarke shivering, he insists they go back inside.

 

He turns his xbox on and teaches her how to play some battle royal style game that she never learns the name of. She starts beating him three rounds in.

 

He grabs cheap bear from his fridge, and she nurses a bottle for the rest of the night.

 

Around midnight, when she realizes what time it is, Bellamy insists on taking her back home.

 

“This isn’t a great neighborhood to be in after dark.” He explains. “I’ll feel better knowing you get back safe.”

 

Clarke pulls her phone out of her back pocket. “I’ll call an uber.” She tells him.

 

He walks her down to the street when her ride arrives.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke’s face digs into her mattress.

 

Her phone has been buzzing incessantly for the past five minutes.

 

She stretches her arm out and feels around blindly on her night stand, until her fingers touch the cool metal.

 

Clarke pulls the phone in front of her face. It’s Wells.

 

She answers the call, pressing the speaker button and setting the phone down on the bed.

 

“This better be worth waking me up for.” Her voice is groggy.

 

“It’s noon, Clarke.” Wells tells her.

 

Clarke grabs her phone and looks at the time, confirming that she did sleep in until mid-day. She sets the phone back down and pulls the blankets up over her shoulders, sighing deeply.

 

“I saw you called me a bunch last night.” Wells says. “Is everything okay?”

 

“MmmHmm.” She mumbles sleepily into her sheets.

 

“Why’re you sleeping so late anyways? Wild night out?”

 

Clarke wants to ask Wells to ease up on the third degree. But that would probably be rude. He seems insistent on having a conversation, so Clarke accepts that her peaceful sleep is over. She sits up, stretching her arms over her head.

 

“I was at Bellamy’s. Lost track of time.” She’s hoping her short answers clue him into the fact that she really does not want to speak.

 

Clarke stands up, grabbing the phone. Her bare feet pad on the tile as she moves to her bathroom.

 

“You and Bellamy were studying on a Friday night?”

 

“We were hanging out.” Clarke stares at herself in her bathroom mirror, pulling her messy hair into a bun. “Not studying.”

 

Wells doesn’t respond long enough for Clarke to wonder if the line cut out.

 

When his voice does come, it’s infused with confusion.

 

“You willingly spent time with Bellamy? You hate him.”

 

Clarke scoffs. “I don’t hate him.”

 

“Yeah you do. You told me word-for-word multiple times.”

 

Clarke tilts her head. She didn’t mean _hate_ hate when she said it, just that he frustrated her.

 

“It’s possible I was wrong about him.” She squeezes paste onto her toothbrush. “He still infuriates me but... I might I enjoy arguing with him a little.”

 

She pushes the toothbrush into her mouth, scrubbing at her teeth in circular motions.

 

Wells sighs.

 

“Alright.” He says. “Just... be careful. There’s a lot of guys who would take advantage of a young innocent girl like you.”

 

Clarke bristles, pulling her tooth brush out of her mouth and spitting into her sink.

 

“I’m not completely helpless.” Clarke nearly hisses. “And Bellamy’s not like that. He’s a jerk but... he’s also a good person.”

 

“I know you can hold your own.” Wells chimes. “But I’m always gonna worry about you.”

 

Clarke tugs her sleep tank down from where it bunched around her waist.

 

“Mmkay.” She mumbles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not long before Clarke and Bellamy’s study sessions start sounding less like debate team and more like, well, actual friends hanging out and studying together.

 

The more that Clarke learns about Bellamy, the more she find his company pleasurable.

 

They still argue, almost constantly, but there’s a levity to it.

 

She spends most of their class together drawing doodles on his notepad. He watches her with a smirk that he probably thinks she doesn’t notice, then pretends to be annoyed with her afterwards.

 

They hang out in their free time, too.

 

Clarke doesn’t think much of it. Bellamy, as much as she hates to admit, is fun to be around. And he’s also basically the only person in the city who tolerates her, so she doesn’t have room to be picky.

 

She’s vaguely aware that Bellamy probably has a lot of friends and family that mean more to him that Clarke ever could. She’s not important in his life. She tries not too get too attached, not to demand too much of his attention.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As Clarke’s first month in college nears it’s end, the weather plummets towards freezing temperatures. Clarke loves the excuse to wear oversized hoodies everywhere she goes.

 

She has always been fond of the cold. There’s only one small problem with it.

 

Bellamy starts wearing sweaters. Lots and lots of sweaters. Like, how could a self proclaimed minimalist own so many sweaters?

 

If it were anywhere else, it wouldn’t be an issue. And, honestly, Clarke appreciates the effort at the fall aesthetic.

 

But she had long ago realized her objective attraction to Bellamy. He was gorgeous, she’d have to be blind not to see it.

 

And gorgeous in a sweater was very distracting.

 

Bellamy sat across from her at the coffee shop. They were supposed to be working on an assignment, but Clarke couldn’t focus on anything other than how soft Bellamy’s green sweater looked. It complimented his skin as it fell across his toned shoulders.

 

Clarke knew she shouldn’t think of him like that. They are friends, nothing more.

 

“Clarke?” Bellamy waves his hand in front of her.

 

“W-What’d you say?” She stutters.

 

She hadn’t been listening at all. Did he notice her staring? Her cheeks heat.

 

“I asked if you want a refill.” He points to the latte in front of her.

 

“I’m okay.” She smiles politely.

 

Bellamy stands, and walks up to the register.

 

Clarke watches him. She tries not to be upset when he smiles widely at the pretty barista. She has no right to feel bothered by him flirting with other girls. Based on the information Raven had given her, he probably spent a lot of nights with female company. Clarke’s stomach drops at the thought. She doesn’t understand why the idea of Bellamy being with other people unsettles her so much.

 

When he comes back a minute later, Clarke glares at his black drip that she judges him for drinking.

 

She spend the rest of their study session with her head buried in her textbook.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You should smile more.”

 

Clarke turns around after she hears the words only to find Cage leering at her.

 

“I’m sorry?” She asks.

 

She had managed to avoid Cage almost entirely thus far in the semester. Today, however, Clarke was fifteen minutes early to class — which is nearly unheard of for her — but the doors were locked. She settled against the wall while she waited for her professor. Cage must’ve seen her alone and decided it was his chance to speak to her.

 

“I said you should smile more.” His words are firm. “You have such a pretty face. Shame for it to go to waste all the time with a scowl.”

 

Clarke takes a small step back instinctively.

 

Her eyes dart around the hallway to see if anyone else had shown up. Just them.

 

She gulps, turning her face away from him.

 

“C’mon.” He steps closer to her. “Give me something nice to look at.”

 

Clarke lifts her chin up, narrowing her eyes.

 

“My face doesn’t exist for your entertainment.” She spits.

 

It doesn’t make him think about his actions, though. His smile morphs into a sneer. Clarke steps back again, holding her breath, as he leans forward, looking down at her with lowered eyebrows.

 

Her heart beat picks up, though she doesn’t let it show.

 

Cage opens his mouth. “I think—”

 

“Hey Clarke.” The voice greeting her is soothingly familiar.

 

Clarke relaxes her shoulders and turns to face Bellamy. She feels his hand rest on her waist, a steadying comfort.

 

“Bellamy.” She breathes his name out.

 

“Cage.” Bellamy greets coldly. “You’re making a bad habit of cornering Clarke.”

 

Cage‘s knuckles turn white by his side.

 

“I was just talking to her.”

 

“And now you’re leaving.” Bellamy’s jaw is set, his voice intimidatingly low.

 

Cage’s nose twitches. He sniffles once, then turns away huffing in the other direction.

 

Clarke lets out a relieved breath.

 

She doesn’t need Bellamy to save her, but Cage is the type of guy who wouldn’t respect her enough to take it seriously if she told him to get lost. She’s grateful that Bellamy stepped in.

 

“Did he do anything to you?” Bellamy asks. His hand shifts to her upper arm and he crouches down to look in her eyes.

 

Clarke smiles softly and shakes her head. “I’m okay.”

 

For a second, Bellamy doesn’t move. He squints and looks into her eyes, like he’s trying to decipher if she’s lying. He seems upset by everything that happened, even more so than Clarke herself is.

 

“Alright.” He responds slowly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy is exceptionally tactile with her the entire class following the whole Cage debacle. A hand on her knee, a brushing of arms, leaning into her. Clarke tries hard not to think anything of it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke is alone in her apartment. Her hair is thrown into a messy bun, she’s not wearing a bra, and she’s got her feet lounged on her coffee table. Her laptop is warm on her lap.

 

She’s slowly typing a paper when Wells name pops up in the corner of the screen. Clarke drags her finger on the trackpad and clicks the _accept_ button.

 

Wells face appears on her screen.

 

He’s smiling widely, his teeth bright white.

 

“Hey. There’s my favorite blonde.” He exclaims.

 

There’s a slight lag, and his voice doesn’t quite match his mouth.

 

“Wells.” She greets with a lopsided smile.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Just writing papers. Nothing astounding.”

 

“You free to talk?”

 

Clarke glances at the clock in the corner of her screen.

 

“Mmm. Yeah. Not for long, though.”

 

Wells tilts his head.

 

“Big plans tonight?”

 

Clarke shrugs. “Just meeting Bellamy to study in a little.”

 

Wells rolls his lips inward. Clarke knows him well enough to understand that he’s holding back a thought.

 

“Can we talk tomorrow?” He asks. “I miss you.”

 

Clarke rubs her finger around theedges of her laptop.

 

“Of course. What time are you free?”

 

Wells looks up in thought.

 

“How about 7?”

 

A hint of guilt passes through Clarke.

 

“I have plans then.”

 

Wells sigh is loud.

 

“Let me guess, you’re hanging out with Bellamy?”

 

Clarke shifts her gaze to the wall in front of her.

 

“Is there something wrong with that?”

 

Wells rubs his hand at his cheek.

 

“No, but... A month ago you hated this guy. Now he’s like the most important person in your life. Don’t you think it’s all happening a little fast?”

 

Clarke chews on her lip. She had never thought of it like that. Bellamy is important to her, sure, but is he the most important person in her life?

 

She can’t think of anyone else who she’s closer with. There’s her mom, but they’re barely on speaking terms. And there’s Wells, though it’s hard to be close when they’re hundreds of miles apart, both leading busy lives.

 

Clarke’s mouth pulls into a thin line as she realized that Bellamy might just be the most important person in her life.

 

Her facial features are flat, lacking an trace of humor or levity.

 

Wells opens his mouth again. “Are you the most important person in his life?”

 

That one hurts because, most likely, no.

 

Clarke’s heart squeezes uncomfortably in her chest. Bellamy has actual friends, people who he cares about. He has family that he’s close with. Clarke is nothing more than passing entertainment to him, a source for decent conversation.

 

“I don’t see why it matters.” Clarke says breathily. Her eyes are stuck on her keyboard.

 

“I’m worried you’re gonna get hurt.” Wells tells her.

 

Too late for that. It wasn’t Bellamy who had hurt her, though, it was Wells with his curiosity.

 

Clarke turns her head to the side. “I’ll let you know if I can talk tomorrow. I have to get ready now.”

 

She clicks on the red end call button.

 

Her heart is thumping in her chest. Wells words stick in her head.

 

_Bellamy is the most important person in your life. Are you the most important in his?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke’s headphones are in her ears, her spotify is on shuffle and she’s sipping on her caramel mocha. The perfect way to study.

 

Her phone pings in her ears.

 

She see’s Bellamy’s name on her screen, and she can’t contain the smile that begins to curl across her face.

 

She swipes the message open.

 

_Bellamy: I got a new couch!!! Well, it’s a used couch but it’s new for me..._

 

_Bellamy: Anyways me and some friends are moving it into my apartment today. You should come over for medical supervision._

 

Clarke sighs.

 

Ever since she spoke to Wells a few days ago, she had been attempting to distance herself from Bellamy, to put herself out there and find different friends. But it was impossible for her to reject the offer to spend time with him.

 

She pulls out her headphones and grabs her bag.

 

When she gets to his apartment she’s not of much use. The couch doesn’t quite fit in the elevator, so him and two of his friends — who introduce themselves as Lincoln and Miller — end up carrying the couch up all five floors. The only incident that occurs is Bellamy bumping his knee into the corner of the stairway.

 

Bellamy’s friends are nice and funny. Once the couch is in Bellamy’s living room, they say they can’t stick around. An hour after the labor, Bellamy and Clarke are left alone in his apartment with his new — slightly used — couch.

 

Clarke leans back into the worn leather while Bellamy orders pizza.

 

“Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.” He instructs, speaking into his phone.

 

“Extra cheese.” Clarke reminds him.

 

“And extra cheese, please.” He adds dutifully, sending her a sideways smile.

 

Clarke’s heart clenches after he looks away. When did that become a thing?

 

When he finishes ordering, Bellamy drops down onto the cushion next to her.

 

“Should be here in fifteen.” He picks up the remote to his tv and clicks it on.

 

Clarke feels her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulls it out.

 

_Wells: Free to talk?_

 

Clarke thumbs click on her phone expertly.

 

_Clarke: Sorry I’m busy! Tomorrow morning?_

 

Three dots appear and Clarke watches the screen, waiting for Wells message to come through.

 

_Wells: Tomorrow morning works. Though I am starting to wonder if you’re making up plans to avoid me..._

 

_Wells: JK. Just miss having 24/7 access to my best friend._

 

Clarke shakes her head with a sly smile. In a snap decision, she opens the camera app on her phone. Her fingers tap on the screen, switching to the front facing camera. She lifts her arm up.

 

“Bellamy.” She nudges him with her elbow.

 

He looks up at her phone.

 

“What’s this?” He asks, his eyebrows drawn.

 

“Wells thinks I’m avoiding him. I’m proving to him that I have a social life.”

 

Bellamy leans into Clarke a little. She gets a whiff of his cologne. He tilts his head, his mouth forming into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. Clarke laughs at the face and clicks the shutter button.

 

She bring the phone to her face, and examines the photo. Her heart stutters at the image of them sitting next to each other. It’s strangely intimate. Clarke ignores the thought.

 

“We need to re-do.” Clarke tells Bellamy.

 

“Why?” Bellamy asks.

 

She holds her phone in front of his face.

 

“My hair looks horrible.”

 

Bellamy squints, examining the photo.

 

“What? No, you look cute.” He says offhandedly. “That one’s good.”

 

Clarke’s pretty sure her face turns bright red, warmth rushing to her cheeks. He called her cute.

 

She sends the photo to Wells, staring at it for a second longer, before clicking her screen off and setting it down.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke is seething when she ends her phone call. Blood is running hot through her body.

 

She can’t believe her mom. Reaching out for the first time in a month just to say that she’s moving in with her coworker Marcus.

 

Clarke’s first instinct isn’t to take a moment to calm down. It’s not to call Wells. It’s to pull up her messages and text Bellamy, asking if he can meet up.

 

Bellamy is a good listener, always agrees with Clarke passionately when she complains, lets her rant and gives her his honest opinion.

 

He responds affirmatively almost immediately, and Clarke is leaving her apartment around eight o’clock, stepping out into the dark night.

 

Clarke gets to the library first. She sits down on the stone steps in front of it. No one else is on the street. Clarke shoves her hands into her coat pockets to fend the cold air.

 

“Hey.” She hears Bellamy’s deep voice behind her.

 

He crouches down onto the step next to her. Body heat emanates from him, Clarke leans in closer out of habit.

 

“Thanks for meeting me.” She says, brushing a tendril of hair out of her eyes.

 

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks slowly. His voice is raw. Clarke’s not sure why.

 

She turns her head, looking down the empty street. The light at the end glares red.

 

“My Dad hasn’t even been gone a year,” Clarke’s voice is soft, quiet, “and my mom calls me to tell me she’s selling our house to move in with her boyfriend.”

 

For a moment, all Clarke can hear is the rustling of leaves in the wind.

 

“ _Oh.”_ Bellamy says. It’s not the response Clarke expected. “That sucks.” He adds.

 

Bellamy slowly wraps his arm around her back, resting his hand on her shoulder. Clarke can sense the hesitation rolling off of him, like’s he’s not sure if it’s okay that he did that. It’s more than okay. Her pulse begins to pound behind her ears. She leans into his touch and Bellamy seems to relax.

 

“I hate how it’s, like, completely out of my control.” Clarke continues. “I can’t tell her not to move on. But I can’t be happy for her. God, she always does this.” Her hand moves up to wipe at her cold nose. “She puts me in the worst situations and expects me to be okay with whatever she wants. I used to have my dad on my side, at least, but its been horrible since he’s been gone. I had to miss my last track meet because she needed help buying gifts for her staff. And I didn’t get to go to prom ‘cause she wanted me at her fundraiser. And she—”

 

“Wait.” Bellamy interrupts her, pulling back to look at her face. “You didn’t go to prom?” His eyes are wide.

 

“No.” Clarke huffs. “But that’s beside the point. What I’m saying is that my mother is bent on making my life—”

 

“Clarke.” He stops her again. “Senior prom is a quintessential part of the high school experience.”

 

Clarke narrows her eyes. She’s not sure if he actually cares about prom or if he’s just trying to distract her.

 

“You’re telling me you went to prom?” Clarke cocks an eyebrow.

 

The image of Bellamy all dressed up in an oversized tux fills her mind. It’s a silly thought, too juvenile for the man next to her.

 

“Corsage and everything.” He tells her proudly. “You really never went to prom? You didn’t drink spiked punch with your friends and end the night with a romantic slow dance?”

 

Clarke rolls her top lip over her bottom lip. “Nope.”

 

Bellamy sighs. Then, standing abruptly, he hops down the two steps in front of her, onto the sidewalk.

 

He holds out his hand to her, his arm outstretched.

 

Clarke squints her eyes quizzically.

 

“What are you doing?” She asks slowly.

 

His hand, still suspended in front of her, moves for emphasis.

 

“I’m giving you your slow dance.” He answers. “Take my hand.”

 

Clarke’s lips part.

 

“No.” She smirks. She can’t tell if he’s joking. “We’re in public.”

 

“It’s midnight.” He tilts his head. “No one’s here.”

 

Clarke fixes her gaze on his hand for a moment, indecisive. Then, mostly because she wants to see where he’s going with this, she reaches forward hesitantly. Her fingers clasp his palm. His hand is warm and rough, yet it holds her hand so delicately.

 

Bellamy helps pull her to a standing position. She walks down the steps until she’s directly in front of him.

 

Clarke stares down at their hands, amazed at the contrast of size.

 

“Here.” He says, his voice dark. He pulls her hand up to his shoulder. Clarke brings up her other hand, crossing her arms behind his neck.

 

She has to remind herself to breathe.

 

Bellamy’s hands move to her hips. The touch burns through her coat, searing her skin. She can feel her pulse beating through her.

 

Clarke had never noticed how much larger Bellamy is in comparison to her. But looking up at him when he’s so close to her, she can truly see how broad his shoulders are, engulfing her frame entirely.

 

She lowers her head.

 

“What now?” She asks, letting out a quiet breathy laugh nervously.

 

“Now we dance.” His voice is silk in her ears.

 

Slowly, he beings to sway them. The movement is so slight that it’s barely even there.

 

Clarke scrunches her nose. “No music?”

 

She can feel Bellamy shrug. The space between them is slowly decreasing.

 

“I can’t sing.” He tells her with a soft chuckle that she can feel vibrate through him. “You could give it a try though.”

 

Clarke bites her lip to control her smile.

 

“I’ll pass.” Hesitantly, she rests her head onto his chest.

 

Bellamy’s grip tightens. She’s flat against him on the empty street. His body is warm.

 

At some point, their swaying stops. They’re simply hugging.

 

It dawns upon Clarke that she’s no longer upset about everything that happened with her mom.

 

“Thank you.” Clarke whispers into his shirt. “I feel better.”

 

Bellamy doesn't pull back.

 

“No problem, princess.”

 

It’s the exact reason why Clarke texted Bellamy when she was first mad. No matter how horrible she’s feeling, he knows how to make her forget her misery, how to get her to smile. And she loves that about him, loves that he always makes her feel warm inside.

 

The thought leads to another flash of insight within Clarke. She doesn’t just love the way Bellamy makes her feel.

 

No, she loves _him._

 

And it’s not the kind of love she feels for Wells. It’s not the love she had for her dad, or even the familial obligational love she has for her mother.

 

Clarke is _in love_ with Bellamy.

 

Clarke stiffens. She pulls back abruptly.

 

“Everything okay?” Bellamy asks.

 

No. Nothing is okay. She’s fallen in love with a person who sees her as nothing more than a friend. He’s beautiful and brilliant and he’s going to move on and change the world. She’ll be left with memories of him dancing with her on the sidewalk, wishing he was still in her life.

 

She doesn’t want that.

 

“I’m good.” She lies. Bellamy doesn’t seem to believe her, narrowing his eyes, so Clarke adds, “I’m just cold. Let’s go back to my place.”

 

Bellamy seems to accept her excuse, turning and walking down the street. She follows, her heart tapping wildly in her chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Being in love with Bellamy scares Clarke.

 

She hates the awareness most of all. It means that every time she sees him, her love only deepens. Thoughts pass through her mind without permission that leave her feeling hollow, like how she wants to fall asleep every night with him by her side, to marry him in a room with tall ceilings. She’ll never have those things. She knows it, the fact makes wanting them hurt even more.

 

Holding her secret in is a burden with only one solution: telling Bellamy how she feels.

 

She spends days considering it, going back and forth in her mind. She decides that the best thing she can do is be honest with him. Bellamy will understand, even if he doesn’t feel the same.

 

And he won’t feel the same. Clarke is certain. He’s never given any indication.

 

The knowledge doesn’t stop hope from blooming in her, doesn’t stop her from dreaming of him telling her he loves her too, pulling her into his arms and kissing her sweetly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When her professor dismisses the class, Clarke’s palms are sweaty. Her plan is to ask Bellamy to hang out and then confess how she feels. There’s a lump in her throat that makes speaking a task.

 

She turns to Bellamy.

 

“Do you have plans tonight?” She asks before she can lose her nerve.

 

“Uh...” He looks up in thought. “No. I don’t think so. Why?”

 

Clarke reminds herself to breathe.

 

“There’s a new mexican restaurant that opened up near my apartment. I kinda want to try it out.” Clarke throws the invitation out a little too casually. Bellamy only tilts his head. Clarke panics. “No worries if you can’t, though.” She adds hastily.

 

Bellamy purses his lips. “Sounds fun.” Clarke’s shoulders relax. “I have class, but I can meet you there at seven?”

 

Clarke swallows.

 

“Sounds like a plan.” She smiles unevenly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The smell of the restaurant is heavenly when Clarke and Bellamy walk in. The place isn’t busy or crowded. A waiter immediately takes them to their table.

 

Bellamy’s all smiles and laughs. It helps to put Clarke at ease. Maybe telling him won’t be so bad.

 

“What can I get you to drink?” The older waiter asks, pad of paper in his hand.

 

“I’ll take your stout.” Bellamy says.

 

Clarke twists her ankles under the table. “I’ll have the ale please.” She hold the drink menu out towards the waiter. He takes it with a smile.

 

“ID?” The waiter asks, looking straight at Clarke.

 

Clarke freezes. Normally she doesn’t get carded, especially for one lousy beer.

 

“I, uh, I left it at home.” She lies. “I’ll take water.”

 

The waiter scribbles on the notepad and walks away.

 

Clarke keeps her eyes on the table.

 

“What was that about?” Bellamy asks. She looks up at him. His eyebrows are drawn. “Your wallet’s right there.” He points at her clutch on the table.

 

Clarke looks him straight in the eye.

 

“I’m eighteen. He wouldn’t have served me if he saw my ID.”

 

Bellamy’s mouth falls open a little. He shifts in his seat.

 

“I- I’m sorry, you’re _eighteen_?”

 

Clarke blinks, curling the corner of the crisp menu with her thumb.

 

“I’m a freshman in college, Bellamy, how old did you think I was?”

 

Bellamy rubs his hand underneath his jaw.

 

“I... don’t know.” He shrugs. “I guess I knew you weren’t twenty one, but... that’s so young.”

 

Clarke’s cheeks heat in embarrassment when Bellamy looks at her like she’s a _child._

 

“I’ll be nineteen in January.” She mumbles.

 

Bellamy clears his throat.

 

“I’ve given you drinks before at my place.” He points out. “You never mentioned you’re underage.”

 

“I assumed you knew.” Clarke defends. “It’s not like you waited until you were twenty-one to drink.”

 

“That’s different.”

 

“How?”

 

Bellamy’s answer is cut off when the waiter sets their drinks down on the table.

 

Bellamy acts strange for the rest of dinner. Clarke’s heart grows heavier in her chest. She doesn’t bring up the fact that she loves him. It doesn’t feel right to say anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After their dinner, Bellamy begins to act... distant.

 

It’s the only word Clarke can think of to describe his attitude.

 

He’s still at all their classes. And he regularly attends their study sessions. But it’s all business. And every time Clarke suggests hanging out, he mutters some half-hearted excuse as to why he can’t.

 

She’s certain he’s avoiding her.

 

It’s possible she’s imagining it. Maybe he really is always busy.

 

Most likely, though, Clarke figures he got his fill of her, is tired of her clinginess.

 

He’s pulling away from her. She can feel it. But it’s so intangible, so slow and insignificant, that there’s nothing she can do about it except be hurt.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy is shoving papers into his bag.

 

Their study ended not even ten seconds ago and he’s already rushing to leave. Clarke ignores the heavy dejection growing in her heart.

 

The smell of caffeine is prevalent in the coffee shop as Clarke inhales deeply, trying to gather courage to ask Bellamy to hang out when she’s certain he’ll say no.

 

“There’s this new docu-series on netflix.” She starts, her fingers tapping on her thigh under the table. Bellamy glances up at her. “You should come over and we can watch it. I won’t get mad when you complain about the historical inaccuracies.”

 

“Sorry. I have plans. Maybe another night.” The excuse is quick to roll off Bellamy’s tongue.

 

Clarke leans back in her chair, her cheeks warming at the rejection. She turns her head and glances out the window.

 

He must hate her. That’s the only explanation. Clarke searches her mind for anything she may have done to cause his disinterest. She comes up empty, and it annoys her. She doesn’t deserve him brushing her off.

 

Clarke has never been one to hold back her opinions with Bellamy, so she confronts him before he can get out of his chair.

 

“Did I do something?” She huffs.

 

Bellamy drags the zipper along his bag.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

Clarke shifts her gaze to the table. “We never spend time together anymore. You avoid me like your life depends on it.”

 

Bellamy’s eyes narrow skeptically.

 

“What do you mean? I’m right in front of you.”

 

He’s right. She can’t fault his logic, which makes her look like she’s losing her sanity. But Bellamy’s not dim. He knows exactly what she was trying to say and, instead of taking it seriously, he chose to brush it off.

 

Clarke’s stomach aches.

 

“Never mind.” She shoves her laptop into her bag.

 

“Wait.” Bellamy rumbles. “I’m not avoiding you. I’ve been really busy.”

 

The platitude only makes Clarke feel worse.

 

“Right.” Clarke’s smile is fake. She stands up. “I’ll see you in class.”

 

Her feet tap against the dark tile as she walks away from Bellamy.

 

When she pushes the door open, she can hear Bellamy calling after her.

 

She reaches the end of the block before he catches up to her.

 

“Hey.” He says. Her elbow burns where his fingers graze it. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” She looks down both sides of the street and, seeing no cars, crosses.

 

Bellamy keeps in step with her.

 

“Would you stop walking?” He requests as they step onto the sidewalk.

 

Clarke scowls, turning to face him.

 

“What do you want?” She demands.

 

Bellamy’s fingers tug on his hoodie strings.

 

“I’m not avoiding you.” He peers into her eyes, speaking with such conviction that Clarke believes his words. “Things aren’t going good with my mom so I’ve been traveling upstate a lot.”

 

Guilt seeps into Clarke. He’s having actual hardships in life and, instead of being there for him, she made it all about herself.

 

“I understand.” She responds. The cars on the street cause a wind to gust, pushing the ends of her hair. “I thought maybe it had something to do with that dinner,” Bellamy’s eyes remain deceivingly steady, “but I’m really sorry to hear about your mom.” There’s a moment of hesitation. Then, with confidence, Clarke reaches forward and places her hand gingerly on his upper arm. “You can talk to me about that stuff, you know? It doesn’t bother me. You can tell me anything. I want to be there for you.”

 

Bellamy’s lips part, his eyes shine with mesmerization.

 

“I know.” He mumbles. “Listen, my friend is throwing a party tonight that I’m tied to. But I still want to hang out with you. You should come to the party.”

 

Clarke’s eyes widen at the sudden invitation.

 

“No thanks.”

 

“C’mon.”

 

“Really. I’m good.”

 

Bellamy pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “I’ll send you the address.”

 

“Bellamy.” Clarke whines. “I believe you haven’t been avoiding me. You don’t have to drag me to some party out of pity.”

 

Bellamy actually looks offended, tilting his head. “It’s not pity. I want you there.”

 

The words he speaks are painfully earnest. Clarke finds herself wanting to say yes just to please him. It’s a dangerous desire.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke decides to give the party a try. Not because she wants to, but because it seemed like Bellamy really wanted her to go.

 

When she reaches the third floor of the building Bellamy sent her, it isn’t difficult to decipher which apartment the party is in. The door is wide open, music flooding out of the place.

 

Clarke sucks in a steadying breath. Her belt digs into the skin right below her belly button.

 

The room is loud when she hesitantly steps into it. She went to her fair share of parties in high school, so the scene wasn’t unfamiliar, but she knew people at those parties, which made her comfortable. Here, she only knows one person.

 

Clarke keeps her shoulders low as she swivels between the crowd. The house is dark, so she pays extra attention to where she’s stepping.

 

When she reaches a wall, Clarke looks back at the people. All she can see is a sea of unrecognizable faces and red solo cups.

 

Music thumps in her ears. She’s turns the corner into a hallway and she runs into something solid.

 

Clarke pulls back and recognizes the face instantly.

 

“Hey. You made it.” Bellamy nearly has to yell to make his voice heard.

 

Clarke smiles and nods.

 

“Yeah.” She looks around, not quite sure what to say. “This is interesting.”

 

Bellamy narrows is eyes, then leans forward so that his mouth is near her ear.

 

“What’d you say?” His voice is rough in her ear.

 

She stretches up on her toes and Bellamy shifts down so that she can speak into his ear.

 

“Nothing important.” Bellamy’s hand settles on her hip. It feels natural.

 

Clarke leans back onto her heels.

 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Bellamy shouts.

 

Clarke swallows. That’s the kind of thing a boyfriend would ask. Clarke’s arms tingle, her heart flutters. Yeah, she wants Bellamy to get her a drink like a boyfriend would because she wants Bellamy to be her boyfriend. She wants other people to notice him getting her drinks and make assumptions.

 

It’s for that exact reason that Clarke, though not thirsty, nods her head. The small smile on her lips is self indulgent. A voice in the back of her head tells her nothing good can come out of this fantasy.

 

“Wait here.” Bellamy orders. “I’ll be back.”

 

Bellamy disappears into the crowd.

 

As he leaves, Clarke’s smile dissipates. She realizes that she just sent the only person she knows at the party away.

 

The wall she’s plastered to is warm. Clarke spends twenty minutes leaning on it, searching through the crowd, waiting for Bellamy to reappear with a drink in his hand.

 

He doesn’t.

 

Clarke cheek ticks as she steps away from the wall.

 

She trails around the apartment in search of Bellamy. In her mind, she gives him the benefit of the doubt. It was possible he got held up, maybe he had to take a phone call. She tells herself these things to keep the seething anger that is building at bay.

 

She catches a glimpse of dark curls outside the window, on the balcony. She’d recognize those curls anywhere. Clarke presses her lips together. She’s pretty sure the drinks aren’t out there.

 

Clarke creeps closer to the window. He’s in perfect sight.

 

Her heart stops.

 

His arms are wrapped around some girl. He laughs at something she says and then leans down to kiss her on the mouth, long and drawn out.

 

Nausea rolls through Clarke.

 

Bellamy abandoned her to laugh on a balcony with his some girl that Clarke didn’t even know existed. It could be his girlfriend for all she knows.

 

The girl is gorgeous, the kind of pretty that could make Bellamy forget about his promise to bringClarke a drink.

 

Clarke knew Bellamy didn’t love her back, knew nothing would ever come from her adoration of him, but seeing the proof in front of her stings.

 

As she rushes out of the apartment she’s pretty sure her face is bright red, pretty sure her heart is breaking.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Clarke gets back home that night she tells herself that she doesn’t want to be in love with Bellamy anymore.

 

He texts her once.

 

_Bellamy: I totally forgot to get you that drink… Are you still here?_

 

Clarke doesn’t respond.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The urge to skip her physiology class is strong the next morning, but Clarke rolls out of bed anyways.

 

She doesn’t feel like sulking around and thinking about Bellamy. She feels invigorated to find different friends, new people to be close with.

 

At class, instead of keeping her head buried in her textbook, she sends the guy that sits next to her a friendly smile.

 

His name is Murphy, she finds out. She’s pretty sure it’s not his birth name, but she doesn’t ask.

 

Murphy is slimy and a pessimist, but he says a few things that get a laugh out of Clarke. Which, considering her mood, is impressive. He invites her to a gathering. She’s not sure about going, but it sounds more enjoyable than Bellamy’s party ever did. She says yes.

 

Halfway through class, Clarke’s phone buzzes. She checks the screen.

 

_Bellamy: I’m starting to feel like you’re ignoring me..._

 

_Bellamy: I’m really sorry about last night._

 

_Bellamy: Are we still on to study tonight?_

 

Clarke rolls her eyes.

 

_Clarke: Can’t make it today._

 

“Who’s that?” Murphy whispers, keeping his voice low so as not to catch the professors attention. He nods his head towards her screen. “Boyfriend?”

 

Clarke clicks her phone off and sets it down.

 

The assumption makes her heart flutter. Clarke hates that it feels good that, even for a brief second, someone thought Bellamy might be _her_ boyfriend.

 

“Mind your business.” She huffs back.

 

Murphy grins.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Murphy’s gathering is a lot different from Bellamy’s friend’s party.

 

She has to knock on the door, for one. And all the lights are on when she walks into the apartment.

 

There’s only a handful of people inside, maybe twenty tops.

 

They’re all warm smiles and kind greetings.

 

Murphy takes her to the kitchen, where a few people that look her age are standing around a half eaten pizza. He introduces her to everyone then drags her to the living room. People sit in a circle playing some sort of fast paced card game.

 

“Village idiot.” Murphy drawls.

 

Clarke whips her head in his direction. “What’d you just call me?”

 

“It’s the name of the card game they’re playing.” The green in his eyes is flickered with yellow. “Village idiot.”

 

“Oh.” She breathes out. “Never played.”

 

“It’s basic. They can deal you in on the next round.”

 

When they finish the next round, they make room for Clarke to join in the circle.

 

Clarke finishes last three times in a row before she gets the hang of it.

 

By the end of the night, Clarke admits that she’s having a good time.

 

Some of the people she meets creep her out, like Dax and Roan. But the others seem really nice, like Harper, who she exchanged numbers with after they talked about how they both want to go thrift store shopping but are too scared to go alone in the city. And there’s Emori, Murphy’s kinda-girlfriend, who’s surprisingly smart and funny and seemingly always down to insult Murphy.

 

When Clarke gets back into her apartment that night, she’s glad she went.

 

But she can’t ignore the pang in her stomach that tells her she misses Bellamy.

 

She pulls up the photo on her phone that she took of them sitting on his couch. It’s barely been a day since she saw him and her heart aches for his presence. Getting over him won’t be easy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke spends the next day painting in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. It’s her way of taking a day off for herself. She may go to a museum later, may get her favorite overpriced pho. She’s undecided.

 

Around noon a knock echoes through her apartment.

 

Clarke’s hands are stained with various shades of paint. She wipes them on the dirty rag she keeps on stand-by while painting.

 

The door handle is cool to the touch when her fingers curl around it. She pulls the door open.

 

Bellamy stand on the other side. His mouth is flat.

 

“What are you doing here?” Clarke hisses slowly.

 

He probably doesn’t deserve the cold greeting, but Clarke is too tired for pleasantries.

 

“You missed our study yesterday. I though we could study now instead.” He raises a brown paper bag in his hand. “And I brought bagels.”

 

Clarke crosses her arms.

 

“I’m busy. We can study tomorrow.” Maybe if she gives it a day she’ll be over the whole ordeal. Maybe she’ll be over Bellamy entirely. She doubts it.

 

“Wait.” He begs. “I want to talk. Can I come in?”

 

“We can talk here.”

 

Bellamy’s jaw ticks, like he’s resisting meeting her challenge with a similar fire.

 

“I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to forget about you. It just happened.”

 

Comforting. He really has a way with words.

 

“Cool.” Clarke mumbles, covering the pain of his words with a bucket of aloofness.

 

Bellamy tilts his head. “That came out wrong.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I care about you a lot. I could never hurt you on purpose. I’m sorry for forgetting about you at the party.”

 

Clarke purses her lips, looking down.

 

“I’m not upset about the party.” She shrugs. “I mean, that was annoying. But on it’s own it’s understandable.”

 

“Then what are you upset about?”

 

“We were…” She shakes her head, rephrasing. “I though you and I were close. I- I thought we were good friends.”

 

“We _are_ close.” Bellamy insists.

 

“Yeah, but… You spent all this time basically ignoring me…”

 

“I apologized for that.”

 

“…and then you invited me to a party, which you abandoned me at so that you could…” _Make out with someone who could be your girlfriend or just some random girl. Either way seeing it broke my heart._ She can’t say that. “It doesn’t even matter. Maybe we need a break.”

 

“No.” Bellamy’s voice is adamant. “Clarke. You’re my best friend. I don’t want anything to come between us.“

 

Clarke blinks at Bellamy, frozen. She’s his best friend. It’s the best and worst thing she’s ever heard. It means that she’s important to him, which she was unsure of up until this point. But the word _friend_ is a glaring confirmation that he’s not in love with her.

 

Clarke chews on her lip. He needs to own up to his actions. He was the one who started pulling away from her.

 

Her words are nearly a whisper. “You’re the only thing that’s coming between us, Bellamy.”

 

Bellamy leans closer to her.

 

“I’ll do whatever it takes Clarke.” The corner of his lip curls, almost sadly. “I can make it up to you.” Confidence is infused in his voice. “I’ll get you that bitter chocolate you love from the market in Queens. Or I’ll go see that dumb superhero movie with you.”

 

That one gets a small smile out of Clarke. “It’s not dumb.”

 

Bellamy’s chuckle is breathy, quiet. It lights life in Clarke.

 

“It is. But I’ll go see it for you. And only you.”

 

Clarke leans her head against the door shyly. She hates how the words settle comfortably in her heart, creating a warmth akin to burning coals. Her cheeks heat.

 

“I’m really your best friend?”

 

“No one else could be.” He answers smoothly, his lips pouting. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

 

Clarke shrugs. “I guess.”

 

His grin curls across her face, matching her own smile.

 

“Good. I don’t like it when we fight about serious things.” He tilts his head, shifting on his feet. “What are you doing right now?”

 

Clarke holds her stained hands up. “Painting.”

 

Bellamy nods.

 

“Can I watch?”

 

“You want to watch me paint? It’s kinda boring when you’re not involved.”

 

“I want to spend time with you. And if that means watching you paint then so be it.”

 

Clarke’s heart stutters. She lets him in.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She had been painting for about an hour when she lifts her head up at Bellamy. She’s not sure where the question comes from or why she asks it.

 

“Should I get tinder?”

 

Bellamy, mid sip, chokes on his water. He sets the drink down, coughing once into a closed fist.

 

“Absolutely not.” His voice is dark, firm. Clarke ignores the shiver that runs down her spine.

 

His opposition only makes her more interested.

 

“Why not?” She huffs defiantly.

 

“Didn’t your Mom ever teach you it’s not safe to meet strangers you talk to online?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I’m not gonna follow people into dark alleys, Bellamy. I’d only meet people in public.”

 

Bellamy’s face softens. “I know. You can do what you want, it’s… Never mind.”

 

“Say it.” She demands, raising her chin.

 

Bellamy rolls his bottom lip under his top one, then pops it out.

 

“People on apps like that are usually just looking for a quick hookup.”

 

Clarke lowers her eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that? You do know I’ve had sex before, right, Bellamy?”

 

He coughs again, though there’s no water in sight this time.

 

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re a good person.” His tone turns a little more serious. Clarke fiddles with her brush in her hand. “You’re the kind of girl that deserves to be treated right, taken out to fancy dinners. All that stuff. No one on tinder can offer you that.”

 

Clarke’s not sure what to say. She turns her head to the canvas on front of her.

 

What does that even mean?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Since they skipped a study session, Clarke heads to Bellamy’s apartment the next night so to get caught up.

 

When she arrives, Clarke falls into his couch and kicks her shoes up on the coffee table he must have just gotten.

 

Clarke pulls her papers out, rustling them into the air.

 

“How are your classes going?” She inquires.

 

“Hold on one second.” Bellamy mutters.

 

Clarke looks up at him. He’s sitting across from her on the couch, his eyes glued to the phone. He’s typing quickly.

 

After a second of her waiting in silence, he turns the screen off and looks up at her.

 

“Sorry.” He murmurs. “What did you say?”

 

Was he paying _any_ attention to her?

 

“Your classes?” She leans forward.

 

“Right.” Bellamy’s brows draw. “They’re good. Everything is…” His phone lights up in his lap, catching his eye, “good…” He trails off, picking his phone up again and typing.

 

Clarke tries to keep her frustration at bay. She wonders if he’s texting the girl from the party. The thought makes her frown.

 

She waits another minute, Bellamy still on his phone, before speaking up.

 

“Should we do this another night?” She feels like her time is being wasted.

 

“No.” Bellamy responds quickly. He sets his phone down. “Sorry. Let’s get started.”

 

As the night goes on, Bellamy’s attention span decreases. He spends more and more time on his phone, not minding Clarke at all. She has to repeat nearly everything she says, receives one word responses from Bellamy.

 

“Can I have a beer?” Clarke breaks after an hour. She might as well get something good out of being in his presence.

 

Bellamy looks up from his phone. “What? No. You’re underage.”

 

Clarke blinks. “Are you being serious?”

 

Bellamy — finally — sets his phone down. He crosses his arms.

 

“Yes.” He doesn’t twitch a muscle. “I have water. Or I got those dumb sparkling flavored drinks you like.”

 

Clarke lowers her eyebrows.

 

“La Croix?”

 

“Yeah. Those.”

 

“You bought La Croix?”

 

Bellamy shrugs.

 

“You’re always drinking them around your place. I figured you might like to have some here.”

 

Clarke supposes it’s a nice gesture, but all it does is annoy her more. If Bellamy were her boyfriend, him stocking his apartment with her favorite drink would be really sweet. She would lean over and kiss him as a thank you. But he’s not her boyfriend. He has whoever that girl was the other night. Yet he’s keeping his house stocked with _Clarke’s_ favorite drink.

 

Clarke swallows.

 

She’s feeling too many things. Instead of dealing with her feelings, she does the thing she’s comfortable with. She starts a fight.

 

“Why’d you ask me to come over and study when you obviously want to be somewhere else?”

 

Bellamy squints his eyes.

 

“What does that even mean?”

 

“You’ve been on your phone the entire night, texting whoever is on the other end of your conversation.” Probably some pretty girl. “From the second I showed up all you’ve done is ignore me. I thought we got past all this yesterday.”

 

There’s a heated silence after she finished her sentence. Maybe she just blew any chance of ending this night on a peaceful note. She doesn’t care.

 

“That doesn’t make sense. I’m here with you.”

 

“Barely.” Clarke scoffs. “You haven’t payed any attention to me all night.”

 

“Who cares?” He hisses. “I get that I’m, like, your only friend in this city, but I have other people in my life. It can’t always be about you.”

 

Clarke’s face falls.

 

It feels like something between them breaks.

 

“I’m sorry…” Bellamy’s voice is infused with a hint of panic. “That was—”

 

“Save it.” Clarke interrupts, monotone.

 

She’s lost the fight in her, the will to care passionately. She’s done with all the drama between them.

 

Clarke turns her head to look out his window. The city is alive with lights. She remembers the night she spent with Bellamy on his balcony, back when she still pretended she hated him. She wishes it was like that between them again. Maybe then she could do things differently. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like there’s a knife perpetually lodged in her heart, slowly twisting.

 

“Why’d you do this?” Clarke nearly whispers.

 

All she can hear, for a moment, is Bellamy’s breaths.

 

“Do what?” His voice is a rumble.

 

Clarke tries to keep her tone steady. “You forced me to care about you and then you forgot about me.”

 

It wasn’t fair. He was the one who asked to be her partner in class, he was the one who pushed them to become friends. If he was going to abandon her all along, why even get close to her in the first place?

 

Bellamy doesn’t respond, though she doesn’t fault him. No sentence could properly answer such a question.

 

He stands. Clarke looks over at him as he walks over to the cabinets under his tv. He pulls a drawer open, rusting through it. “I need a smoke.” He mumbles.

 

Clarke blinks.

 

When he pulls a pack of cigarettes out, Clarke’s eyes widen.

 

He knows she hates it when he smokes. He doesn’t care.

 

“If you do that I’m leaving.” She threatens.

 

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t respond to her ultimatum at all.

 

The cigarette he puts between his lips is the first step of his betrayal. It worsens when he flicks the lighter in his hand, holding it at the end of the stick. He takes one long drag.

 

Clarke’s jaw locks.

 

She grabs her bag and leaves. He doesn’t stop her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not even an hour after she leaves when the texts start rolling in.

 

_Bellamy: Hey._

 

Clarke rolls her eyes at the first text. She turns her read receipts on so that he knows she’s ignoring him.

 

_Bellamy: I’m sorry about what I said tonight._

 

_Bellamy: I was being a jerk._

 

_Bellamy: You have every right to be mad, just please be mad to my face._

 

_Bellamy: Don’t ignore me._

 

_Bellamy: Clarke_

 

_Bellamy: Please. I need you. I need things to be okay between us._

 

_Bellamy: Nothing I did was okay. I’ve been going through a lot lately and I took it out on you. I’m sorry._

 

_Bellamy: You’re my best friend. Don’t let one stupid fight ruin that._

 

Ignoring him takes effort. Clarke focuses on her anger, it makes the task easier.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke doesn’t realize what day it is until after she wakes up.

 

She’s brushing in her teeth when the dates click in her mind. Her toothbrush falls out of her mouth.

 

She had been so caught up in her drama with Bellamy that she had forgotten entirely.

 

Clarke spits in the sink, wipes her mouth off, and sinks to her knees on the bathroom tile.

 

One year ago today Clarke held her father’s hand as he breathed his last breath.

 

A rock lodges itself in Clarke’s throat as the memory takes over her mind. She shakes her head, reminds herself to breathe.

 

_In, out._

 

_In, out._

 

_In, out._

 

Clarke stands and walks back to her bed, crawling back into her sheets.

 

She doesn’t feel like going out for the day at all. She turns her phone off because she’s certain that Wells will be calling her soon, checking in on her. She can’t pretend she’s okay for him. She’ll call him back tomorrow.

 

She closes her eyes, digs her head into her pillow.

 

Memories flash back to her mind uninvited.

 

Her Dad’s hollow eyes. A weak hand holding hers. So unlike the strong man who raised her.

 

Then, quietly, his last words.

 

_I love you, kid._

 

Followed by the flatline of the machine.

 

Tears leak out of her eyes without permission.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By afternoon Clarke can no longer stand the solitude of her home.

 

She grabs her coat and runs out the door in a rush.

 

She needs a drink.

 

It’s a bad idea, she knows, but she can’t stop herself.

 

The only bar that Clarke knows will serve her is the one Raven took her to.

 

She calls an uber in the elevator.

 

The bouncer at the bar pays no attention to her as she brushes past him.

 

She marches straight up to the bar.

 

“Coke and Rum.” She demands when the bartender turns to her. She only gets it because she’s pretty sure it was her dad’s favorite drink.

 

The bartender hands it to her a minute later with a smile.

 

Clarke sits alone, gently sipping. Her hands are flat on the table. She glances at the people around her, laughing and smiling. Clarke is surrounded by life, but she’s never felt more alone.

 

She has no one.

 

Her father died, her mother is a manipulative mess, her friends are states away, and the love of her life is probably thinking about some other pretty girl.

 

Paying homage to her father was supposed to make her feel better but with each sip Clarke takes she feels infinitely worse. She wants to cry again, but she’s in public so she holds it in.

 

She feels horrible. She’d do anything to make the pain stop. There’s only one person who is guaranteed to make her feel better. And she’s in the middle of a fight with him.

 

Clarke is mad at Bellamy, but she needs him so badly.

 

She’s barely halfway through her drink when she pulls her phone out. With shaking fingers, she orders an uber to Bellamy’s apartment.

 

When she gets in the car, Clarke leans her head against the cool window and holds her panic in. She wants to double over in pain, she misses her father so much.

 

The car pulls up the sidewalk and Clarke stumbles out. Her mind is too clouded for her to be balanced.

 

As she pounds on Bellamy’s front door, salty liquid starts leaking out of her eyes. She can’t hold it in anymore. She carries herself small, fragile, broken. Her arms are crossed in front of her, her head is bent low. Broken. It’s what she is.

 

When the door creaks open, and Bellamy is standing on the other side, Clarke feels instant relief.

 

She rushes forwards, colliding with him. Her arms wrap around his torso, her head presses into his chest. He emanates warmth that comforts her, grounds her.

 

“Clarke what- what’s wrong?” His hand moves to rub tentatively at her back.

 

“I miss him so much.” She chokes out.

 

Her chin wobbles.

 

Bellamy’s arms wrap around her fully, holding her securely. Clarke clutches at his back, attempting to get closer.

 

“Is this about your Dad?” He inquires, resting his chin on her head.

 

Clarke nods against his chest.

 

She barely had to say a thing and he already understands. Clarke finds comfort in how much he knows her.

 

Bellamy hesitantly pulls back to look down at her. Clarke lifts her head slowly, to meet his eyes. She wonders if anyone had ever watched her so warmly.

 

“Come inside.” He mumbles his request.

 

Bellamy pulls away from her. His hand moves to clutch at hers with a firm grip. He gingerly pulls her into his apartment and sits her down on his couch.

 

He crouches down so that they are at eye level and places a hand on her shoulder.

 

“I’ll be right back.” He promises.

 

Clarke doesn’t respond.

 

From her vantage point she can see ice crystallizing outside Bellamy’s window.

 

Clattering noises come from his kitchen. Clarke counts her breaths, keeping them steady.

 

A minute later Bellamy emerges, mug in hand. He pulls a blanket over her and gives her the mug. It has a distinctly sweet smell.

 

Then, he sits next to her. He’s close, like she hoped he would be.

 

Clarke sips on her hot chocolate, flavor bursting on her tastebuds.

 

Bellamy’s arms moves around her shoulder. His thumb rubs comforting patterns, and Clarke leans into his touch.

 

“Do you want to talk about him?” His voice is smooth.

 

Clarke’s lips tingle. “Yeah.”

 

Bellamy remains silent, lets Clarke work up any courage she might need to speak.

 

She takes a deep breath.

 

“It was a year ago today.” Her voice cracks. She grounds herself by focusing on the circles Bellamy draws on her arm with his thumb. “I miss him so much. I can’t change the fact that he’s gone. No amount of crying or mourning will bring him back.” The breath she takes is shaky. “But I still cry. I still mourn.”

 

Clarke can feel Bellamy’s lips press against her hair. Nothing has ever felt so right in her life.

 

“It’s okay that you cry, Clarke. You’re allowed to feel everything you feel. No one will hold it against you.”

 

His words are calming poetry, mused into her ear. She lives by them for a moment.

 

She’s allowed to mourn, he’s right.

 

“Today...” Clarke speaks slowly. “It hurts so much. Other days it’s a dull sting,” the pace of Bellamy’s thumb rubbing her arm increases, “but today... it’s bad. As horrible as it sounds, right now, I just want to forget.”

 

The sound of Bellamy’s breaths ground her.

 

“Okay.” He responds easily, like it’s his job to fulfill her every want. Clarke’s heart flutters, under his care she feels so taken care of. At this point, she can barely remember what they fought about the day before. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here, maybe it will make it ten times harder to stop loving him. Clarke can’t bring herself to feel true regret. “Let’s forget.”

 

Bellamy stands abruptly. Clarke stares up at him.

 

He holds his hand out for her to take. Clarke is thrown back in time to the night he slow danced with her, holding his hand out, asking her to grab it. He cured all her worries then. He can do the same tonight, she knows it.

 

Clarke takes his hand, allows him to pull her to a standing position.

 

“What are we doing?” Clarke’s voice is already sounding more human.

 

“We,” his hand moves to the small of her back, guiding her in the direction of his kitchen, “are going to make cookies.”

 

“Cookies?” Clarke repeats.

 

“I, uh, promised my sister I’d bring her lacrosse team a batch. She’s not the type of person I’d like to disappoint.”

 

There’s something deeper behind what he says, but it doesn’t feel like the right time to ask.

 

“I don’t bake.” Clarke confesses as the step into his kitchen, the carpet floor turning to tile.

 

Bellamy shrugs. “It’s not rocket science.”

 

Bellamy opens his refrigerator, the blue light inside illuminating his face.

 

“Want to read me the recipe?” He suggests, pointing a finger towards the papers sitting on his countertop.

 

Clarke picks it up and begins reading.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke watches Bellamy from where she sits on top of his counter as he slides the first batch of cookies into the oven. Her legs are swinging over the edge.

 

There’s a small smile playing on her lips while she watches him type fourteen minutes into the counter.

 

The overwhelming sadness she felt earlier in the day is gone, her heart no longer feels like it’s about to burst. Bellamy did that for her.

 

He turns around to face her, standing at full height. His smile is infectious.

 

“How’s it even possible to get that much flour on yourself?” He rumbles. The vibe in the room shifts as he steps closer to her.

 

Clarke looks down, tugging on her shirt only to discover white powder spots.

 

“Your face too.” Bellamy adds. Clarke can hear the restrained chuckle in his voice.

 

She raises her hand, wiping at her cheek.

 

Bellamy is watching her with a growing smirk.

 

“What?” Clarke demands, hand resting just above her jaw.

 

“You’re totally missing it.” He chuckles. “Um… Here.”

 

Bellamy turns around, grabbing a small clean towel from the drawer next to his sink. He uses the faucet to lightly wet a corner of the towel.

 

Striding back towards Clarke, he hesitantly settles in between her legs.

 

Clarke swallows. The tension in the air shifts to an intimate vibe. She’s not sure what to make of it.

 

Bellamy clears his throat as his hand settles on Clarke’s upper thigh, burning through her jeans. His hand is large, curling around the sides of her leg. Clarke has to tear her eyes away.

 

She can’t remember how to breathe.

 

His eyes are dark orbs as he watches somewhere below her eyes.

 

When he raises the damp towel to the corner of her cheek, wiping gently, his grip on her thigh tightens slightly. Dizzying heat pools in Clarke’s stomach. Her head spins.

 

The generous curve of his lips tempt her. They’re not curled upwards like they so often are. No, they’re in a flat line, stiff, like they’re being restrained. His freckles, scattered across his cheek, are mesmerizing. Clarke’s not sure she’s ever had the opportunity to examine them in such detail before.

 

Bellamy lowers the towel, setting it on the counter next to Clarke.

 

“All done.” He nearly whispers. His voice is rough, his pupils black.

 

He doesn’t move back. His eyes flicker to her mouth, his gaze gets seemingly caught.

 

Clarke straightens her back. The tension stretches on.

 

She can’t quite remember why kissing him is a bad idea.

 

Blood rushes past her ears.

 

Desire. _Need._ It’s all she knows in the moment.

 

Bellamy leans forward, and Clarke parts her lips in shock, sucking in a sharp breath.

 

She doesn’t need any more prompting as he leans in.

 

In a snap decision, Clarke rushes forward.

 

Their lips meet in a rough way. It’s the kind of kiss that incites sparking explosions inside of Clarke. His mouth is soft, and each touch he gives has meaning.

 

His tongue swipes at her bottom lip and Clarke’s heart stops.

 

She tangles her hands into his thick hair, tugging lightly.

 

It feels freeing, amazing. Why hadn’t she kissed him sooner? Well, there was her crippling fear of rejection. And him avoiding her for a few weeks. And, of course, she saw him…

 

Clarke’s lips freeze.

 

She saw him kissing someone else a few days ago. She’s not sure if it was his girlfriend, or just a random girl, but she doesn’t want to kiss Bellamy when he’s not in love with her, when he’s going out and finding other people.

 

Clarke pushes at Bellamy’s stone like shoulders. He pulls back instantly.

 

She squeezes her eyes shut, touching her fingers to her lips.

 

Clarke can feel his hand pressing warm prints into her shoulder.

 

“Are you okay?” Bellamy’s voice is rushed, breathy, filled to the brim with concern and worry.

 

No. She’s not okay.

 

If Bellamy had kissed someone days ago that means he’s not in love with her.

 

And if the person he kissed was his girlfriend… Nausea rolls in Clarke’s stomach. She’s been the other woman before. It’s the opposite of pleasant. Clarke fleetingly wonders if anyone will ever put her first, if she’s worth it.

 

“We shouldn’t have done that.” Clarke whispers, opening her eyes.

 

Bellamy steps back, seemingly in shock. Clarke can’t look at him, can’t chance seeing regret in his gaze. It would break her.

 

A sting builds behind her eyes.

 

The noise of her feet hitting the ground fills the silent air between them. Clarke marches into his living room with uneven breaths, grabbing her purse and heading straight for his door.

 

Bellamy doesn’t say a thing. As far as Clarke knows he doesn’t even move.

 

She doesn’t slam the door behind her, she closes it softly. The same way her heart breaks.

 

In the elevator, Clarke watches the numbers above the door indicating her descent.

 

She’s on the third floor when her first tears fall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Pounding is the only sensation Clarke can feel when she wakes up the next morning.

 

Her head is pounding, pulsating with heavy aches.

 

In her shower, water trickles down her back. It’s warm, constant.

 

Clarke is reminded of the warmth of Bellamy’s lips. The memory doesn’t feel right. She turns the dial to the left. The water gets hotter, stinging lightly. The sensation makes her feel present. It’s a relief.

 

Afterwards, as she pats herself down with a towel, she feels a pang in her stomach. She can’t remember if she ate the day before, but she knows she’s hungry.

 

Clarke changes quickly, slips into her shoes, grabs her clutch and heads down to the small grocery at the end of the block.

 

She’s nearly certain she has emotional whiplash. She was thrown so quickly between such opposite emotions. First it was devastation about her father, then the joy Bellamy made her feel — the bliss of kissing him — followed quickly by devastation of realizing Bellamy doesn’t the same way about her. She knows he doesn’t. Clarke had spent weeks pining for him, following him around with heart eyes, and he still said nothing. He never would. Because he saw her only as a friend. Sure, a friend he was undoubtedly attracted to, but he wanted nothing more with her. If he loved her, he wouldn’t be off with other people. If he loved her, he would put her first. He would tell her.

 

Clarke tries to keep her spirits up as she grabs a carton of eggs and orange juice from the store. It becomes harder when the cashier takes special care to ask her if she’s doing okay. She doesn’t think she looks _that_ bad.

 

When Clarke gets back onto her floor, grocery bag in hand, she stops in her steps.

 

Bellamy’s there. Sitting in front of her door, coffee in hand.

 

Clarke’s face turns white. She doesn’t want to talk to him, but she can’t turn around and leave.

 

She steels her face, and marches forward.

 

When her noisy footsteps alert him to her presence, he scrambles to his feet.

 

“Clarke.” He croaks as she sticks her key in her door, attempting to ignore him. “This is for you.” He holds the coffee cup towards her. “Your favorite.”

 

Clarke clenches her jaw, turning the key.

 

“Go home, Bellamy.” Her voice is tired.

 

“Can we talk?” Bellamy begs. “Please, Clarke.”

 

She turns and looks him in his red eyes, shaking her head slowly.

 

“I don’t want to.” Clarke’s words come out a little louder than necessary.

 

The elderly neighbor one door over peeks her head out, sending a stern glare in Bellamy and Clarke’s direction.

 

“Sorry.” Clarke mumbles, realizing that it is early and her neighbors are likely trying to sleep in.

 

Clarke opens her door, grabs Bellamy by the elbow, and pulls him into her apartment.

 

She shuts her door and brushes past Bellamy, into her kitchen.

 

It’s a relief to her arm as she sets her groceries onto her counter. She can hear Bellamy walk into the kitchen behind her.

 

Clarke turns around, crossing her arms.

 

“You wanted to talk.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Talk.”

 

His eyes are tired and sad. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Clarke, you were…” He pauses. Another breath, then, “you were not in a good place last night. You were emotionally vulnerable and I took advantage of you and, believe me, I hate myself for that. Like, clearly I made you uncomfortable. I never should have initiated anything knowing where your headspace was. You’re so important to me, and losing you from my life sounds like torture. But I understand if you can’t forgive me. I just hope you can get past all this.”

 

Clarke furrows her eyebrows. She doesn’t understand.

 

“You think you took advantage of me?” She asks.

 

Bellamy lowers his head. “If there’s anything I can do to make it better, if you need me to—”

 

“Bellamy.” Clarke interrupts. “You didn’t.”

 

“Of course I did.”

 

“No. That’s not what I’m upset about.” Clarke massages her temple.

 

If he was going to apologize she wanted him to apologize about the right thing.

 

“Then why’d you run off last night?” Bellamy stares at her with a heavy gaze, like the answer will affect him in a monumental way.

 

Clarke lets out a dry humorless laugh. “You don’t feel the same as I do.”

 

“I don’t know _how_ you feel.” He almost seems annoyed by the fact.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

 

Bellamy takes a cautious steps closer to Clarke.

 

“No.” He answers honestly.

 

The thud of Clarke’s heart beat fills her ears. Her fingers grip around the cold countertop behind her that she leans on for strength.

 

“I’m in love with you.” She confesses in a whisper. Her heart feels relieved, but her body has never been more on alert.

 

Clarke can’t read Bellamy’s expression. It kills her.

 

He’s completely frozen, his eyes boring into her as if to be searching for any traces of deceit.

 

“I can’t kiss you and have it mean nothing,” Clarke adds weakly.

 

Bellamy’s adam’s apple bobs. “Why do you assume it meant nothing to me?” He speaks fast, with a hint of anger, a douse of accusation.

 

Clarke nearly scoffs. Her face is raw with emotion.

 

“I’ve given you so many hints as to how I feel. But you never say a thing. Even now, after I confessed my feelings to you, you still haven’t given me any indication that you feel the same. What am I supposed to assume?”

 

Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to respond.

 

“Assume that I’m in love with you too.” His words come out in a heavy rush.

 

Clarke shakes her head. It can’t be that simple.

 

“No.” Her fingers tingle. “You-you’ve done nothing but push me away.” Clarke’s eyebrows are low as she provides the evidence. “You’ve never even implied... And I saw you kissing someone, just a few days ago. If you were in love with me, why were you with her instead of by my side?”

 

The betrayal she felt from the party, an insecurity she had previously ignored, resurfaces.

 

Bellamy narrows his eyes.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Clarke lets out a huff of frustration. She steps forward, directly in front of Bellamy, and squares her shoulder.

 

“The party. I saw you kissing someone.”

 

Bellamy tilts his head.

 

“Roma?”

 

“I don’t need to know her name.” Clarke spits, her eyes shifting uncomfortably to the floor for a moment.

 

Bellamy’s mouth falls open.

 

“Clarke she’s...” He seems frantic to explain as he runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand. There’s nothing between her and I.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes at the lame excuse.

 

“I saw it with my own eyes.” She huffs. “I’m not stupid.”

 

“We’re just friends. There’s—”

 

“And yet you still kissed her. Is that what you do with all the people you’re just friends with?”

 

Roma, herself... Clarke was detecting a pattern that made her uneasy.

 

“Are you going to let me explain?” Bellamy fumes.

 

Clarke settles back on her heels, crossing her arms.

 

“Go ahead.” She stares up at him with a pout and listens reluctantly.

 

“I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t interested in you.” The words come out shaky, like they’re hard for him to admit. “I got drunk and kissed her. Nothing else happened.”

 

Clarke’s heart falls at the information.

 

“So you are in love with me, you just don’t want to be.” Clarke frowns. She keeps her eyes stuck on the wall behind him.

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“Then why else would the thought of loving me push you to make out with someone else?” She spits back.

 

“Look at me, Clarke.” Bellamy demands.

 

When she doesn’t comply, he grabs her chin between his thumb and finger, tilting her head towards him. She shifts her gaze to his eyes, but she can’t find comfort in it. Every breath she takes causes a mild pain to ache in her heart. She doesn’t understand how she could be so unloveable, that even someone who does love her looks for a way out.

 

Clarke takes a step back, out of Bellamy’s grip. His hand falls back down to his side.

 

“Do you remember the day we met?” He asks softly. His eyes are a melody for the broken-hearted.

 

“Yeah.” She whispers. Like she could forget.

 

Bellamy’s responding smile is bittersweet. “I remember it so clearly. When I first saw you I thought you were beautiful.” Clarke recalls having similar thoughts about him. “And I started an argument with you, because you were too good to be true. Everything word you said to me made my blood boil, but even after you left I couldn’t get you out of my head. I was in awe.”

 

Clarke sighs. The sentiment is nice, she supposes, but it doesn’t solve any of their current problems.

 

“What does this have to do with—”

 

“I’m trying to be romantic.” Bellamy insists. “Please just shut up and let me talk.”

 

Clarke flexes her jaw.

 

“Fine.”

 

The silence in the air is quickly filled by Bellamy’s continuing speech.

 

“When I walked into our class and saw you there, I thought it had to be a miracle, or a dream. What were the odds of me getting a second chance with this stranger I couldn’t forget?” Clarke holds her breath. “The more I got to know you, the harder I fell for you. I wasn’t in any rush. I was enjoying learning things about you, waiting for you to catch on and maybe feel the same.”

 

The information makes Clarke’s head spin. But she knows there’s was a catch, otherwise they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

 

“So what went wrong?” Clarke asks definitely. “What’d I do to make you change your mind?”

 

“You didn’t...” He huffs. “It freaked me out when I found out your age, okay? I felt like a tool and a predator for thinking the things I did about you.” He walks forward, until he’s directly in front of her. “Instead of talking to you I did dumb things to try and move on.”

 

Clarke’s heart was beating wildly.

 

“Did it work? Have you moved on?”

 

They were both frozen.

 

“I think you know the answer to that.” Bellamy rumbles. Clarke nods. Tears of joy and exhaustion mist the corner of her eyes. “The way I feel about you... I didn’t know what it was to be in love before I met you. You mean everything to me. Nothing can change that, not even myself. I’m sorry I’m an idiot.”

 

Clarke looks up at him, shaking her head.

 

“I am too.”

 

They both overcomplicated the simplest thing. He loves her, she loves him. Anything else is manageable obstacles.

 

“Does that mean...” Bellamy’s question hangs in the air, a hopeful look clouds his eyes.

 

Clarke nods hastily as she reaches her arms behind his neck, pulling him down to her.

 

Bellamy complies.

 

His lips press against hers. It’s not much of a kiss, since neither of them can contain their wide smiles, but sparks still erupt in Clarke’s heart as Bellamy’s arms wrap around her.

 

It’s in Bellamy’s arms that Clarke finally understands what it feels like to be exactly where you belong.

 


End file.
